


a crimson bouquet

by Setkia



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Angst, Boys Need To Communicate Better, Denial of Feelings, Fluff, Hanahaki Disease, Internalized Homophobia, Language of Flowers, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oblivious boys are oblivious, Pining, Seriously Boys, Slow Burn, Talk it out, insecure everyone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2018-12-12 22:32:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11746524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setkia/pseuds/Setkia
Summary: “So … yeah … I … fell in love with somebody I wasn’t supposed to, and now I’m coughing up bloody petals.”It sounds so ridiculous when he says it that way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Haikyuu. I know, I know, I have tons of incomplete stories, but I've decided to try something different. I'm going to work on one story at a time and though I know this isn't the first story I wrote for Haikyuu, this one just inspired me since my trip back from Greece. So here we are, with a 20 chapter planned, 1/4 finished story that I hope to update on a schedule. Once every 2 weeks. I'm starting school soon, but I've got chapters prepped in advanced.  
> Some things you should keep in mind when reading the story:  
> The POV changes a bit, the one who is narrating is the person who is being called by their first name.  
> Oikawa and Iwaizumi are in their first year of university, which means everyone is one year older than they are in the canon show. Another thing is that in order to have them go to university far away, it's in Tokyo. Karasuno has been imagined to be in Tokyo as well, for the sake of making it easier for them to see each other so this story does not comply to the actual geography of the canon.  
> I have always wanted to write a hanahaki story, and since IwaOi is my OTP, and the angst ship, I felt it was a shame people didn't write more hanahaki for them, so I'm remedying that. I hope you guys enjoy! My friend helped me plan out these chapters so I guess I'll dedicate it to her.  
> Thank you for helping me torture these lovely volleygays!

**** When Iwaizumi Hajime wakes up in the morning to sunlight streaming in through his window, he feels well-rested and calm. He walks to the bathroom, yawns at his reflection, and starts his morning routine. Brushes his teeth, tames his hair as best as he can, rinses his mouth, and preps the shower as he makes himself coffee. He needs a new coffee machine, and he keeps putting it off. Maybe he’ll get a new one today. 

The coffee drips into his mug and fills it perfectly so it’s nice and ready when he gets out of the shower and he takes his time deciding on what to wear. His mother always chides him on his—

_ Shit. _

Panic fills the young adult in an instant. 

He’s forgetting something. Something important. Something  _ very _ important.

As Hajime forces his pants onto his still wet legs, he reaches for his phone and promptly falls onto the floor. A reminder flashes across the screen and he groans. 

_ Lunch with Mom (don’t forget the present) _

Hajime scrambles up from his position and glances at the clock. 

10:45.

_ This is why you set alarms, dumbass! _

Did he dream about setting the alarm? Goddammit, he hates it when he does stuff like that.

Looking in the mirror what he’s wearing is all wrong. He can’t go and see his mother like this. He’s been living on his own for two months and if his mother sees him like this she’ll make him move back in with her, even though it  _ is _ closer to school he can’t handle the embarrassment that would entail.

Hajime quickly changes his clothes, putting on a nice (?) shirt and a clean (?) pair of pants, brushing down his hair even more. He grabs his keys and nearly forgets his wallet as he rushes to his car. He hurriedly says hello to his neighbor, a bagel in his mouth, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, and then pulls too hard on the car door, causing himself to jolt and drop his coffee on himself.

_ Fuck, it’s hot!  _

Hajime hisses, but the clock seems to say he doesn’t have enough time to even bother with changing again, he has to move, fast. Maybe he can just buy a shirt real quick? But wait …

_ (don’t forget the present) _

What did she want? It’s his mother’s birthday and he hasn’t got the slightest idea what she wants. He remembers asking her numerous times what it was she wanted from her one and only son, and her response was always vague and troubling to him. 

_ You had one job, only one, and you fucked it up. _

What do women want? He almost laughs at himself, if he wasn’t so panicked, he’d find everything rather funny, but he doesn’t have time for that. What do women want? A question he’s asked himself for years and the answer does not just magically appear.

An idea hits him.

The moment he sees the small shop with the tiny sign he’s opened his car door without stopping the car itself and has to remind himself to hit the brakes. It’s the worst parking job ever, but he doesn’t care. He rushes, nearly tripping over his own feet, and opens the door to the store, ignoring the slight tinkle of the bell announcing his arrival.

He’s out of breath, but he can’t think about why and instead uses the last of his inhale to say: 

“I NEED FLOWERS!”

There’s a silence, and then—

There’s a man standing behind the counter who is laughing at him and yet Hajime can’t find it within himself to be mad at him for it. The man has deep brown hair that reminds Hajime of some kind of Disney prince, his eyes are a chocolate color as he laughs. He’s dressed simply, a plain shirt and an apron, with a small name tag that Hajime is too flustered to read. His making some witty remark about how, if Hajime is in need of flowers, he’s come to the right place, seeing as this  _ is _ , a flower shop. A single thought enters his mind—

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

The moment he realizes the words have left his lips, he freezes. He is now turning into a tomato and would very much like the ground to swallow him thank you very much.

Beautiful Boy looks stunned for a moment before a smirk takes over his features. 

“You’re not so bad looking yourself,” he says.

Fuck him, his smirk is sexy and his voice is illegal.

“Now that we’ve traded compliments, want to tell me the occasion that requires flowers?”

Hajime’s brain must’ve short-circuited but he comes to his senses before he can blurt out something stupid like how the occasion is his and Beautiful Boy’s wedding. “Birthday,” he says instead. “Mom’s birthday.”

“Judging by your panic, you forgot, didn’t you?”

“Did not,” Hajime says. It doesn’t sound like a pout. Shut up, it doesn’t. 

Beautiful Boy laughs and Hajime walks closer as if pulled by the sound of his laughter. Hajime has never heard an angel before, but he’s pretty sure this is what it would sound like. Upon closer inspection, he can see the young man’s name tag reads:  _ Oikawa _ .

“Just give me whatever you’ve got,” Hajime says. He could probably stare at the mysterious stranger named Oikawa for hours, but he does have a meeting with his mother and he can’t dally for too long.

“Where’s the meaning in that?” Beautiful Boy (Oikawa) chides. He tsks. “You care about your mother, don’t you?”

_ What kind of question is that? _

Oikawa reads his face and grins. “You can’t give her a meaningless bouquet, now can you?”

“I mean—”

“You poor boy.”

“Um …”

“I’ve got just the thing, so don’t worry your pretty little head,” says Oikawa with a wink. He goes towards the back and Hajime waits, unsure of what to do with himself. 

The shop is pretty small and there are not many people around. It almost feels like Hajime has stumbled upon a pretty, little secret, a hidden gem of a place, where he can see himself spending his spare time, between classes, when he’s studying, there’s a quaint and calm atmosphere that makes him feel at ease and perhaps he’d appreciate it all even more if he weren’t terrified of his mother decapitating him because of his tardiness to lunch. He’s going to be late, he just knows he will be.

A few moments later, Oikawa comes back out with a beautiful bouquet, containing among many things, a beautiful purple flower. Hajime’s eyes are drawn to it instantly. It’s not wrapped into the bouquet, it’s there, almost laying in the properly laced together flora. “What’s that one called?” he asks.

Oikawa’s caramel eyes widen in surprise when he sees what Hajime is pointing to. “That? Oh, you don’t want that,” he says, pulling it away from the bouquet. It falls to the ground and Oikawa squashes it under his foot.

“You okay?”

Oikawa takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. Once he opens them again, they’re clear. He smiles, but something feels off about it. “Perfect, and you?” He glances at the clock and holds out the bouquet to Hajime, who stumbles for a moment, almost forgetting why this beautiful boy is giving him such a lovely bouquet. “Better hurry. That’ll be fifteen hundred yen.”

Hajime fumbles for his wallet, trying not to drop the beautiful bouquet as he searches his pockets for the right amount. He hands over some bills and gives Oikawa a shy grin. “Thanks.” He doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he stays still.

“Get going, silly boy,” says Oikawa with a laugh, shooing him towards the door.

“Ah. Right. Um, thanks.”

“You already said that,” the brunet places a hand on his shoulder and guides him to the exit. His fingers seem to spark something on Hajime’s skin and he has to take a moment to breathe deeply. 

He’s left standing outside with a beautiful bouquet of flowers, given to him by an even more beautiful boy, speechless.

His phone rings.

“Hajime, where are you?”

_ Shit. _

Well, back to reality.

* * *

Oikawa Torū watches, amused as the young man jumps at the sound of his phone ringing and then dashes to his car. He’s … interesting, he’ll give him that. And not too bad in the looks department. With that hair and those eyes, Torū would be swept away if it weren’t for — best not think about that.

When Torū turns around to go back to his post, his smile falters. He stares down at the flower on the floor and feels himself gag. He forces it down and bends to the flower, picking it up in his hand.

He hates it. So much.

Though stomped on the flower is still undoubtedly beautiful.

To think, a flower seller who hates flowers.

He should laugh, he knows he should, but he can’t, mainly because he’s terrified that a thorn will pierce his throat on its way up and cut out his vocal chords.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter has been posted early, by like, 1 day, but I think I'll start posting on Saturdays, so every 2 weeks, on Saturday. I hope you guys like it, thanks to the people who kudoed? Kudosed? Anyway, thanks, I'm really excited about this story! And school is happening so I'm busy but I am working on it!

What the fuck is he doing?

“I didn’t know people bought flowers to congratulate others on walking their dog.”

_Couldn't you have thought of a better excuse?_

Hajime has to admit it’s not his best move, but he’s become a fan of the small shop and more specifically, its owner. Or at least, the only employee he ever sees in the shop.

“Eh, well, he needs encouragement,” says Hajime, rubbing his neck.

It earns him a laugh from Flower Boy— Oikawa, so he doesn’t think about it too much. He gives him a shy grin and tries not to seem too stupid as he stumbles his way around out the door.

Hajime leans back in his car and hits his head against the headrest, his eyes closing.

“You. Are. A fucking. Idiot.”

It’s draining his wallet dry and yet it’s been two weeks and he’s come in at least six more times since Oikawa saved him from his mother’s wrath. He has made no progress with this stupid crush of his. His friends keep asking him if he even knows if the brunet is gay and the answer he always has to give is “no”.

The wing spiker is not in fucking high school anymore, he should be able to string together coherent sentences in front of the man without stuttering like an idiot. It doesn’t help that his ex-girlfriend is teasing him about it. He’s pretty sure she pity dated him because she had seen his sorry-excuse of an almost-confession (he couldn’t even get through the whole thing, and it’s not his fault, shōjo manga makes it look so much easier than it really is, okay?) and now he’s doing the same thing for a guy he doesn’t even know anything about.

Why does he even like this man? There really is no reason to like him, he knows not much else than what he looks like and the sound of his voice. He’s a normal person, like anyone else, he just happens to look like he could be a model.

Hajime has met gorgeous people before, and he’s never gotten this tongue-tied.

What is he doing with his life?

Hajime drives home and places another unused bouquet onto his bed. He collapses on his sheets and tosses his head back.

As a university student with a not-so-well-paying job, Hajime really can’t afford to do this much longer. He should probably make his intentions clear, that he— what, that he wants to court Oikawa? That sounds so formal and cheesy. He doesn’t even know his first name, nothing can really come out of this strange obsession he’s developed for the boy.

Hajime counts his bills.

He’s going to have to be careful about the rest of the money he spends, he doesn’t want to be one of those people the landlord has to chase after for his rent.

* * *

“You just have all sorts of occasions to celebrate, don’t you?”

“It’s not every day your cousin who you thought was infertile turns out to be four months pregnant with twins!” Hajime lets out a nervous laugh and he bets Oikawa can tell. This is getting ridiculous.

_Just ask him. See if he’s interested. Worst-case scenario, you can never show your face in town again._

These flimsy excuses are not going to work for much longer. Either he asks him and gets rejected, or he somehow manages to speak to him properly enough that “dropping by to hang out with a friend” is a good enough excuse. But in order to ask, he has to be able to make his tongue work.

“Hey, Oikawa,” says Hajime, coughing into his hand. “You eh … you got anyone you like?”

The brunet looks up at him in surprise, his fingers nearly dropping the ribbon he’s using to tie together the bouquet. “Oh, um …” Oikawa’s voice goes hoarse. Hajime frowns.

“Everything alright?”

Hajime wonders how many times he’s asked this question. Oikawa is smooth, he flirts easily, Hajime is pretty sure it’s just part of his personality, but every now and then he’ll stop and a grimace will take over his features and he’ll be off until Hajime leaves again. It unnerves him. It doesn’t happen often, but it happens often enough to worry him. “Are you getting sick?”

“Something like that,” says Oikawa. He grins, but it’s fake. It hurts Hajime, how easily Oikawa can flash that fake smile. He shouldn’t have to fake it. “Here you go, Iwa-chan.”

The nickname should annoy him. “Chan” just feels so disrespectful coming from a stranger, he’s used to being called “Iwaizumi-kun”, or at least “Iwaizumi-san”. This is strange and it’s something new and though it irks him a bit, he feels as though it would be strange if Oikawa called him “Iwaizumi-kun”. Besides, it’s not like they can have a long talk about what to address each other as; Hajime can’t keep his composure long enough for that.

“Thanks,” he says with a small grin.

He pays for his order and walks out. He doesn’t miss the way Oikawa coughs, though he tries to stifle it.

* * *

“Are you seriously going out to buy the guy cold medicine?”

Hajime regrets calling his friend.

“He just didn’t look well, so—”

“So you’re going to buy him Tylenol?” asks Kyoutani in disbelief.

He can’t really blame him for his disbelief, it’s not like Hajime often goes out of his way for his friends. If Kyoutani was sick, Hajime would probably just tell him “bless you”, and advise he go home. Besides, it isn’t like Kyoutani is the type of person who would let Hajime baby him, even if he _was_ the type to show his affection overbearingly.

“You never buy me stuff when I’m sick,—”

“It’s not like you’d let me—”

“But the point is, you don’t do that type of thing. And we’ve been friends for a year, and yet you’ve known this guy less than a month and you’re getting him some stuff for his bedridden ass?”

“It’s not like that,” says Hajime, even though there’s a part of him that tells him it’s exactly like that. “Look, I don’t know, I’m used to looking after my mom, and I guess instinct just says I should help him? He seems … lonely. Whenever I see him, he’s alone just standing there—”

“It’s his job!”

“But there’s no one else in the shop, like, ever. It’s almost like he has to do all the shifts by himself and he’s his own boss and he just … You don’t see his face when he sees me. Like he’s kinda confused about why I’m there—”

“ _I’m_ confused why you’re there, do _you_ even know why you’re there?” Kyoutani snaps. “Either you grow some balls and ask him out, or you get the fuck out of there before he asks for a restraining order.”

“I’ll get around to it,” Hajime says with a shrug. “Look I just think he needs someone. No one wants to be alone.”

“Are you sure it’s not your hormones talking? Maybe you’re so eager to fuck him, you’ve convinced yourself he needs you.”

“Anyone ever told you you’re a crude asshole, Kyoutani?”

“Every day, Iwaizumi-san.” He can hear the smirk across the line. “I’m just saying you should find out whether or not he actually likes guys before you get too devoted. Then again considering the conversation we’ve been having, I think it’s a bit too late for that-”

“Fuck off,” Hajime snaps.

“You’re whipped.”

“I am not,” Hajime hisses. He bends down and reads the labels on the boxes. “Do you think he’d like Advil, or Ibuprofen?”

Kyoutani hangs up on him.

Hajime was hoping he’d do that, so it doesn’t really bug him, though an answer would’ve been nice because he ends up buying Tylenol, Advil and Ibuprofen.

* * *

“What’s this?”

“A thing for you,” says Hajime, holding out the bag for Oikawa.

“Is it our anniversary? Honey, I didn’t even realize! My bad, I feel horrible that I don’t have anything for you—”

“Shut up and open the bag, Shittykawa.”

Oikawa blinks and so does Hajime. To be honest, inside the confines of his own mind, Hajime has come up with many stupid variations of Oikawa’s name. Some are insulting for the days the boy gets on his nerves, and some are more affectionate. He never expected himself to slip up and call him such an insulting name to his face. He pales, but Oikawa laughs, tossing his head back.

“Whatever you say, Iwa-chan!”

Oikawa opens the bag and looks inside, seeing the medicine. “Iwa-chan … What is this?”

Hajime feels stupid.

Of course it’s stupid, what is he even doing? It’s not Hajime’s job to worry over Oikawa, that’s his mother’s job. Why did he even do this? Kyoutani was practically warning him about this. “I just thought since you weren’t feeling well, maybe you needed some—” Now he sounds super stupid. He forcefully clamps down on his teeth and bites his tongue by accident. He tries to hold in a squeak over the sudden pain and tries to pull the bag back, but Oikawa holds on tight.

“It’s mine now,” says Oikawa with a cheeky grin. “No take-backs!”

Hajime’s ears are red. He knows that the blush starts at his ears and goes down the back of his neck, and it’s horrible that when he turns to red even with his skin that’s slightly darker than most it’s still so obvious that he’s embarrassed.

“Thanks for looking after me, Iwa-chan,” says Oikawa and it sounds teasing but the look in his eyes tells Hajime something different.

Hajime tetters for a moment. “Right. No … no problem.”

“Anything else? Has someone saved another cat from a tree that you want to congratulate with a bouquet again?”

Hajime opens his mouth, going to retort when he realizes Oikawa is teasing him. “No, maybe next week,” he says instead. “I’ll be going now.”

He turns on his heel sharply and can feel his ears burn. His whole face must be on fire. He’s making a fool of himself, but that has to be one of the longest conversations he’s had with Oikawa, and he didn’t even stammer that much. He feels like he’s making progress.

Hajime knows that if he doesn’t ask right now, he never will.

“Oikawa, I was wondering,” he says, trying to force his way through the sentence. He knows if he turns around he’ll lose the nerve, watching Oikawa’s expressions change as the question veers into a territory unexplored by them before. “Do you ...  I mean … have you …. About boys … Oikawa, do you like boys?” he forces himself to turn around for Oikawa’s response only to find the counter is empty.

Well, Hajime is never going to have the courage to ask that question again so he supposes he’ll forever wonder.

* * *

Torū holds the convenience store bag to his chest, trying to fight back tears.

It’s been so long since someone has taken care of him. His sister is busy with Takeru, and he can’t blame her, raising a child is not easy. Being in university means he should be more independent, and he is, for the most part. But like most of the things about him, he fakes it till he makes it. He’s so good at acting no one can tell when he needs help, no one can see when he really does require aid.

Except Iwaizumi.

Torū shuts his eyes tightly and feels the bag crinkle against his chest. He wonders if he should find it pathetic that he’s so easily read by such a complete stranger.

He can do this. He hears Iwaizumi’s question, but he doesn’t dare to answer it.

He wants to laugh, he’s loud. Iwaizumi seems to have a slight volume control problem and Torū finds it endearing.  

His throat hurts. He can feel it, it’s making its way up his throat and he tries to hold it back, but it just won’t stay. He holds his breath, nearly chokes himself but it comes out anyway. He coughs, covering his mouth as best as he can and his ribcage hurts from dry heaving, his fingers curl around it tightly and crush it into his palm.

_“Oikawa, do you like boys?”_

_No._

_Just one._

_And it’s killing me._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Haikyuu. I just wanted to say thanks for the kudos and the views, I'm really happy you guys are liking the story! This is where things get a bit complicated, there's a lot of POV switches in this chapter, when it switches, the person who is being called by their first name is the one narrating.

“Nice serve!”

Torū’s feet touch the court and he looks to his side. 

_ He’s _ here. 

It knots his stomach and Torū has to hold his chest for a moment, as though that’s going to stop him from choking. 

He hears the ball as it soars in the air, and when he turns again, he watches as it grazes the top of the net and then falls to the ground, untouchable even to his teammates who dive quickly.

_ He’d do it better. _

Torū shakes his hands and feels nervous, which has nothing to do with the fact that it’s going to be his first ever university match. He jumps up and down, trying to get out the excess energy, while at the same time retaining the stamina. 

The doors to the gym open and the team they’ll be up against walk into the gym. Torū’s eyes go wide when he sees a familiar face amongst the many players. He knew Ushiwaka was going to that university, but—

“Oikawa-san, watch out!”

Torū just barely dodges the ball that nearly strikes him in the head. He sees the one who nearly hit him, who is rushing to him quickly. “Oikawa-san, I am so sorry!” the boy babbles, reaching out as if he can mend Torū’s (non-existent) wounds. “I thought you were paying attention—”

Torū pushes the boy aside and walks, almost as if in a trance. He’ll worry about his etiquette later, right now he has some questions for the opposing university. 

“Iwa-chan, you play volleyball?”

Torū watches as Iwaizumi’s head turns at the sound of his voice and Torū can see the moment Iwaizumi notices him. His eyes grow like saucers and Torū can’t hold in a snicker. It’s kinda adorable, if he’s being honest. Torū pushes his way through the crowd, elbowing the competition before he’s even seen them on the court to get to Iwaizumi.

“You never said you played volleyball,” says Torū.

“Well I mean,” Iwaizumi flusters, “neither did you!”

“How did the fact that your father had recently gotten promoted come into the conversation, but not what clubs you were in?”

Iwaizumi lets out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, fancy that. What position do you play?” Torū notices that Iwaizumi seems to visibly relax when he talks about volleyball. The brunet knows he makes Iwaizumi nervous, he just doesn’t realize how much until he sees how his shoulders loosen and his face opens up when he talks about the sport.

“Setter, you?”

“Wing spiker,” says Iwaizumi.

Suddenly a boy with pinkish hair pops up, almost as if from thin air. He wraps an arm around Iwaizumi’s neck in a hold that almost makes Torū think he’s choking his teammate. “Oi, Iwaizumi-san, we’ve gotta warm up—” he pauses when he sees Torū. For just a second, his expression flickers to something of surprise but then it turns neutral and Torū quirks an eyebrow, not sure if he’s seeing things. “Oikawa-san?” 

“Yes,” Torū says, a bit surprised. “You know who I am?”

The boy rolls his eyes, as if this is a stupid question. “Hot damn, Iwaizumi-san,” says the player, letting out a low, appreciative whistle. Iwaizumi glares at him, but it doesn’t seem like he gets the hint. “I’d tap that if I were you! You doing anything later tonight?” 

Torū lets out a laugh. “Smooth.”

“You’re not really my type anyway, hot, but I prefer darker hair.” For a moment, Torū almost thinks he’s talking about Iwaizumi, but the boy glances behind him at another player with what appears to be a bored expression on his face. 

“Hanamaki, lay off of him,” Iwaizumi says, rolling his eyes. 

“Hanamaki?” Torū repeats. It sounds almost too much like—

“Yup,” says Hanamaki, stopping Torū’s thoughts. “Now listen here, Oikawa-san, I’d just like to make one thing clear. Iwaizumi-san over here, he’s a good guy, a bit rough, but don’t get me wrong, despite his constant frown, he does know what fun is and doesn’t always have a stick stuck up his ass—”

“Hanamaki!”

“Oh c’mon Vice, I’m doing you a favour. Anyway, the problem with Iwaizumi-san over here is he can be a bit … insensitive, and also, very sensitive. Don’t ask me how, it’s all very confusing, but anyway, as long as you can accept that, I give you permission. But you hurt him, I will end you!”

“Permission for what?”

“Permission to d—”

“Hanamaki, why don’t you go and stretch with Matsukawa?”

“Oh, don’t ruin our fun, Iwa-chan.” Torū loves the now familiar blush that starts at Iwaizumi’s ears. 

“Iwa-chan?” repeats Hanamaki. “Did he just call you—”

“Stretches, now!” Iwaizumi snaps, shoving Hanamaki in the opposite direction. Torū’s eyes can’t help but follow the flex of Iwaizumi’s bicep as he uses his arms. A wing spiker. It shows. Torū licks his lips and he’s pretty sure Hanamaki is snickering at him. 

“Sorry about him,” says Iwaizumi, throwing a glance over his shoulder as if to check on Hanamaki. From the looks of it, Hanamaki is having fun with the dark haired boy he was staring at before. 

“He called you Vice?”

“I was the vice-captain in high school,” Iwaizumi says with a shrug like it doesn’t matter. 

“Really? That’s amazing!”

“Not really,” Iwaizumi says and Torū can tell he’s not fishing for compliments. He knows how people act when they want to inflate their ego, he’s seen them do it enough, hell, _he’s_ done it often enough but there’s nothing but sincerity in Iwaizumi’s voice. 

Torū stares.

Can he not see how amazing that is?

“Bet you were the ace, weren’t you?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “Nah, that was Ushijima.”

Torū surprises himself when Iwaizumi mentions Ushijima’s name. It’s perhaps the first time ever Torū has ever forgotten about Ushiwaka. Looking at Iwaizumi now, he can perhaps understand why Iwaizumi feels humbled. 

Ushijima Wakatoshi is a force to be reckoned with and it’s hard not to feel inferior to him. Torū knows the feeling. But there’s no bitterness in Iwaizumi’s voice either.

Torū knows he’d be bitter about it, if he were in Iwaizumi’s place. If Iwaizumi was vice, and Ushiwaka was ace, Torū is pretty sure he can safely assume Ushiwaka was also captain. 

Torū knows he was happy that he wasn’t in the same school as Ushiwaka, for reasons other than he’d be able to beat him better that way (despite the fact that it had never happened). Going to a school without Ushiwaka meant Torū could grow without being in his shadow.

At the same time though, Torū feels as though it might’ve been interesting. To be in competition against Ushiwaka, to try and be his equal. He’s been trying really hard from afar, but he wonders if this makes Iwaizumi a better person than he is, without his pettiness and yet he’s still confident in his abilities despite being overshadowed. 

He sounds humble, but not degrading to himself. He acknowledges his own skill, but also knows there are those who are better than him and he’s not at their level yet.

Torū is kind of speechless.

A whistle blows.

“I gotta go, warm up and all.” Iwaizumi turns to go, when he pauses and bites his lip. “Good luck.”

Torū can’t help his racing thoughts, can’t stop thinking about Iwaizumi, a man he can’t seem to understand, but who seems to understand him very well. He can’t even manage a “good luck” in return before Iwaizumi is swallowed in a crowd of the rest of his team. 

* * *

The game is intense.

They go overtime and Torū sweats through the whole thing. 

The score’s 26-25, Iwaizumi’s team is winning.

It’s Torū’s turn to serve. He bounces the ball, feels the fabric beneath his palm, then raises it above his head. He jumps, and swings. 

He jumps, and swings. 

He overestimated.

His hand makes contact with the ball, but he pushes his body forward too much and so he flops to the ground after the contact. His hand is still out in front of him so it hits the court and he knows there’ll be floor burns on his arm when he stands up. His chin hits the wood, his teeth knock together and he thinks there’s a bit of blood in his mouth. That’s not what bugs him. 

That’s not what bugs him. 

It’s not even the stinging, knowing that he landed on his knee wrong.

It’s the look on His face when he looks into the stands. It’s the way He stands up and puts His hand on His friend’s back, guiding them out of the gymnasium. 

It’s His back, walking away from him.

“Oikawa-san! Are you okay?” 

The ref has blown his whistle, but Torū doesn’t care. He sits up and drags his leg to him. It’s going to hurt for a while, he knows it, but he doesn’t care. He tries to ignore the prying eyes on him. He screwed up, it’s not his fault.

He screwed up, it’s not his fault.

He’s not  _ Him _ .

He makes mistakes.

He spits onto the ground and isn’t very fazed when he sees blood mixed in with his saliva. 

They reach out to help him up, but he tries to push them away. 

He’s fine. He is, really. He wobbles to his feet, as steady as a newborn calf, when his throat hurts.

_ No. Not now. Please not now. _

He manages to keep them in, but at the cost of his legs collapsing under him. 

* * *

It’s almost like a movie scene, the way he watches Oikawa fall. It’s almost in slow motion.

He feels the brunet’s name tumble out of his lips like a whisper and he’s frozen. He’s in too much shock to move, but then they’re hauling him away and Hajime is on his feet, running off the court.

The ball hits the floor on the opposite team’s side, and it’s not like if it had gone over anyone would’ve dove for it.

Hajime can’t make himself care about the fact that they’ve won.

He’s numb and then he’s screaming as they lift Oikawa up and he doesn’t put up a fight, which doesn’t make sense because Hajime _knows_ what he saw. 

Oikawa … Oikawa being limp and not moving isn’t like him. 

It’s not like Hajime pretends to know Oikawa so well that he knows what to expect of him, or how he usually acts, but this doesn’t make sense because the fall makes no sense.

There was no reason for him to hit the ground the way he did.

“Doesn’t that player have a busted up knee?”

_ Does he? _

Hajime doesn’t know, but he feels like he should be hitting Oikawa for his stupidity.

He didn’t _have_ to fall. 

There was no reason for him to pull his leg back the way he did. If he _does_ have a busted up knee, he’s made it worse, and Hajime can’t understand because this _shouldn’t be happening._

“Iwaizumi-san?”

Hajime can’t hear the crowd that’s screaming and yelling out their team name, cheering for them because the victory doesn’t feel right. The game should still be happening. It was a butchered serve, and he knows that’s not how Oikawa serves.

Oikawa’s serves are as deadly as his tosses. Hajime’s kind of jealous of his opponent’s spikers, they get to hit Oikawa’s tosses, his perfect tosses, but that aside, Oikawa is a perfectionist. That much is obvious. 

He could’ve … but he _didn’t_ and it confuses him.

“I’m going to go and check up on him,” says Hajime, pushing his way through the crowd and ignoring his teammates. That they put him on as a starter as a first year is kind of amazing, especially since he doesn’t consider himself to be amazing at the sport or anything, but if he’s trying to score any points with his senpais, he’s failing. 

He doesn’t really care though because he only has one thought in mind.

_ Why did he fall? _

* * *

They take him to the infirmary, they fuss over him, but he can’t focus on that. Everything sounds like white noise, nothing is really important so he nods when asked if it hurts by the nurse and lets them baby him. Normally he’d fight, but he doesn’t this time. It’s not that it doesn’t still annoy him; it does, he’s not a baby, he’s nineteen, he can handle himself. No, he doesn’t complain because he barely feels it, doesn’t really notice what’s happening around him.

“Why?”

The word breaks through the barrier of his mind and when Torū looks up, he realizes he’s in the infirmary and the nurse has just left and Iwaizumi is here. 

“Did I worry you, Iwa-chan?” Torū teases, but his heart isn’t really in it. He doesn’t want to see pity, so he looks away. It’s best not to see it, it’ll aggravate him to see Iwaizumi looking at him like he’s pathetic. “Shouldn’t you be playing?”

“We won,” Iwaizumi says. “It didn’t go over.”

Of course. He can master it in practice, but when  _ He _ turns up, Torū can never do anything right.

“Do you have a weak knee or something?”

“Or something,” Torū says with a shrug. He looks over at Iwaizumi, knowing if he avoids eye contact for too long, it’ll probably make him worry even more. What he sees is not pity, though he’s braced himself for it; he sees confusion. It confuses him and so now there are two confused volleyball players in the infirmary.

“Um …” Torū licks his lips, for the first time completely unsure of what to say.

“I don’t get it,” Iwaizumi says. “You knew you were going to tip over and you did it anyway.”

_ How did he know? _

“You knew you’d fall, knew it’d mess up your knee. You could’ve stopped it, you can control your momentum. You knew the toss was wrong. You could’ve adjusted. But you didn’t.”

_ How can he see through me so easily? _

“You let yourself fall, and then you dragged your leg back and made it worse. You knew it was going to hurt you.”

_ Stop it. You’re not supposed to know that. You’re not supposed to see that. _

“My only question, is why?”

Torū manages to muster up a laugh. It ends up sounding more cold and bitter than carefree. “You give me too much credit, Iwa-chan. I just made a mistake.” He shrugs helplessly. “No big deal.”

Iwaizumi looks at him and for the first time since he’s developed his defense mechanism, he worries he won’t believe him. That he’ll see through him again. 

“You know what’s funny?” Iwaizumi says, leaning back in the infirmary chair. “I’ve told you about how my neighbor’s dog died and I needed to get her flowers, and other such occasions and yet I don’t even know your first name.”

Torū blinks. Well, that’s a sudden subject change if he’s ever experienced one. 

“Torū,” he says. “Um, my name’s Oikawa Torū.”

“Hmm …” Iwaizumi grins. “Well, seems we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, Oikawa Torū. I’m Iwaizumi Hajime.” He holds out his hand like it’s a business deal and Torū can’t help but stare at his hand like it’s alien. Nineteen-year-olds don’t shake hands like this, do they? “Pleasure to meet you.”

Torū can’t help the grin that escapes his lips. It feels like the first genuine smile in a long time. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

Iwaizumi Hajime. 

He’s a strange one, that’s for sure.

Torū can’t understand how Iwaizumi sees through him so easily. He’s spent years perfecting his wall, perfecting his fake smiles and his easy laughs and his ability to seem unfazed by anything. But somehow in mere seconds it all seems to crack under Iwaizumi’s gaze. 

Torū can’t help but respect him.

How can he look at Torū without the filter? Without the barrier he’s worked so hard to build up? He doesn’t know how it’s possible. 

They exchange numbers and it’s almost enough to make Torū forget about the image of Him walking away from him, yet again.

Iwaizumi Hajime sees right through Torū’s mirage and it terrifies him. 

Almost as much as the idea of _Him_ seeing through it does. 

* * *

“Don’t you think it’s weird?”

“What?” asks Shōyō, swinging next to Kageyama. He supposes at one time, the younger’s height was intimidating to him, but now he feels safe, almost as though Kageyama’s shadow is protecting him. Not that Shōyō needs protection, but still, it’s a nice feeling. It’s like being wrapped up in a big blanket, a big, shadowy, somewhat grumpy blanket.

“Oikawa-san.”

Shōyō’s spirits fall slightly, but he forces it not to show. He shouldn’t be surprised, Kageyama’s eyes couldn’t leave Oikawa-san the entire match. There was something analytical about his gaze, like he was taking Oikawa-san apart, piece by piece in his mind, and examining each part of him with great scrutiny. His gaze never wavered from him, not once.

Shōyō has no reason to be jealous.

It’s only logical that Kageyama examines Oikawa-san so intensely. He sees Oikawa-san as a goal, his superior, someone he wants to surpass, someone he wants to beat. There’s nothing romantic about the intense looks Kageyama is always giving Oikawa-san, but still there’s a part of Shōyō’s mind that tells him it’s exactly that. 

It’s ridiculous, he knows, but it doesn’t stop the thoughts.

“Yeah, I guess it was a bit weird.”

Shōyō hopes Kageyama doesn’t look his way, doesn’t see how transparent he is with his feelings. He’s sure it’s written all over his face because if he’s being honest, Shōyō really can’t hide his feelings even if he tried. And he does try, constantly.

And he does try. Constantly.

“He could’ve stopped it.”

“Stopped what?” He feels so small, and it has nothing to do with his height.

“His fall.”

Despite the topic, Shōyō can’t stop his surprise. “He could’ve?”

“Yeah. He knew it wasn’t the toss he wanted, and he could’ve easily readjusted himself to the new height, but he didn’t. He let himself fall. Why?” Kageyama’s brows furrow and his eyes seem to set in concentration, the same way he looks at plays and Shōyō can’t stop himself from looking at him, watching him and the way he zones out completely when he focuses.

All his attention is on Oikawa-san, not that it should surprise him anymore. 

“I don’t know, Oikawa-san’s strange, isn’t he?” Shōyō asks, trying to ignore the bitter taste of Oikawa-san’s name on his tongue.

“Hmm …”

The redhead knows when he’s lost Kageyama to the inner-depths of his mind. He respects that, he really does, but it makes him anxious. He wonders if Kageyama ever sees him, standing right next to him as he is now. He wonders if he’s even in the setter’s peripheral vision, given how he has tunnel-vision-like thoughts, so focused on a single thing. 

He wonders if Kageyama ever sees him, standing right next to him as he is now. He wonders if he’s even in the setter’s peripheral vision, given how he has tunnel-vision-like thoughts, so focused on a single thing. 

Shōyō wishes that Kageyama would devote so much attention to him.

He doesn’t mean to sound needy, because he’s not. As an older brother, he’s used to being in the background a bit. He knows that some might find it weird, that he wants to be under Kageyama’s scrutinizing gaze and he can understand why it’s weird.

Kageyama dissects people like insects. When he sets his analytical gaze on you, it’s like he’s seeing the inside of you, trying to find all your weaknesses, all your strengths, what makes you tick, what will bring out the fullest of your potential. He doesn’t focus on anything else, only you, and it’s so intense it’s a bit uncomfortable. Kageyama looks at you like you’re a machine, made up of gears and parts but you have no blueprints and so he’s making them himself in his own mind, formulating them to the smallest detail. He observes and inspects and analyzes; he thinks and strategizes; he considers every possibility. He makes you feel self-conscious with the intensity of his gaze and he’s so quiet, you’d think he wasn’t breathing. He tears you apart limb by limb and then slowly reconstructs you in his mind, and it makes you squirm and makes you doubt yourself, makes you question everything and you feel vulnerable, and like he’s about to do something horrible with the information he’s gained. He always looks like he knows you better than you know yourself when he’s done.

Yes, being underneath Kageyama Tobio’s analytical gaze is terrifying.

But Shōyō has been under it once before, last year when he first became a member of the team and it was in that moment that Shōyō realized something that made the whole, almost creepy way of looking at people worth it.

When Kageyama Tobio looks at you with his intense eyes and starts taking you apart, it's like you're the center of his universe for those few precious moments.

It's like you're the only thing that exists; like nothing else matters. To focus his attention entirely on you, you must be worthy of it, you’ve done something great, or at least, something deserving of the intense gaze. You feel important, wanted, useful, you feel like you’re the only the thing that matters. 

Like you’re the only thing that matters to Kageyama.

And Shōyō loves that feeling.

Hinata Shōyō does not like Oikawa Torū. 

He has no foundation for not liking Oikawa-san, none other than the fact that while Oikawa-san could’ve stopped his fall, despite his every effort Hinata Shōyō can not stop his same descent for the protective shadow that stands beside him. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Haikyuu. This episode is heavy on the angst factor ... And more narrators ... Sorry if that's confusing.

_ Wanna practice? (13:22) _

Hajime smiles at the text. 

It’s a really weird sensation, to have Oikawa’s phone number. He’s not used to it, but he can’t say it’s unpleasant. They don’t really text much, more often than not the chat history is something like “you busy?” or “I can’t sleep, entertain me”, and Oikawa texts him more often than Hajime texts him, but that’s mainly because he doesn’t know what he’d even say to him. The texts never get too deep, just the bare basics of small talk and the occasional request to meet up. Hajime and Oikawa have gotten into the habit of practicing together and the more Hajime watches Oikawa play, the more he’s convinced that the fall was no accident. He had let himself fall.

Just the idea of spiking Oikawa’s tosses sends shivers down Hajime’s spine. They’re such good tosses, ones that he knows if he got them often enough, they’d be an unstoppable duo. He feels a bit stupid, to have never met Oikawa earlier. He quickly learns that they’ve been in close proximity to each other since forever and how is it possible their schools never played each other? 

Hajime shakes his head. It doesn’t matter that they didn’t know each other then, they know each other now and that’s all that matters.

“Oikawa-san is texting you?”

Hajime looks up at Ushijima in surprise. Is his crush so obvious that one can tell when he’s being texted by him? He can feel his blush starting, but he tries to force it down. “Um, yeah.” 

Hajime has been able to piece together some stuff about Oikawa’s past, including that Ushijima plays a role in it. They knew each other and Hajime isn’t quite sure why Oikawa never came up before in conversation. After all, if Hajime knew Oikawa, he’d never shut up about him. Well, he kinda never shuts up about him now, if he’s being honest. “You knew him before, didn’t you?”

“No one really knows Oikawa Torū,” says Ushijima. It’s cryptic, like the man before him. “He keeps to himself.”

“What do you mean?”

“He socializes, but he never really gets close to anyone,” Ushijima says. He looks at Hajime intensely. “You like him.”

Hajime’s mouth opens and closes, he’s flubbering like a fish. He could deny it, but with the pause it’s taken him to collect his thoughts it’ll be obvious. “Heh …” He scratches the back of his neck, not sure what to do with his hands. It’s not because of discomfort, or an itch, he just needs to move his fingers. “Do you uh … do you know if he …” Hajime’s face is on fire and he can feel it. It’s heating up pretty badly. 

“If he’s gay?”

Hajime lets out a nervous chuckle. “Blunt as always.”

“I don’t see a reason not to be.”

If Hajime thinks about it, he supposes he’s pretty sure he knew Ushijima at a point where he was less blunt, more carefree, and less calculating. Hajime can’t really remember when the change happened. He shakes it off. It doesn’t really matter right now. “But uh yeah. Does he like boys?”

“You can never tell with Oikawa-san,” Ushijima says. “He’s very reserved. But if you like him, go for it.”

Hajime blinks. He would’ve never expected something like this from Ushijima Wakatoshi. “Uh, you think so?”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“He could reject me?”

“Then get rejected.”

He makes it seem so simple.

“But-”

“No buts. Just do it.”

Hajime gulps. He guesses it would be better to know than to just wonder, but then again, he’s not sure. He doesn’t know what to expect, not from Oikawa. He’s unpredictable and he’s hard to read, though Hajime feels like perhaps he’s getting better at it. 

No more visits to the flower shop, but he’s seeing Oikawa almost weekly, practicing tosses and combos. He supposes he should be nervous, especially since Oikawa is probably not against using these techniques to beat Hajime’s team, but there’s a part of him that feels like the maneuvers they plan aren’t possible without the other person. He’s tried to get setters to do what Oikawa does, and they just always fall short. They’re never fast enough, or their aim isn’t quite right. There’s something comforting about the way Oikawa tosses to him.

“I gotta get going,” Hajime says. He looks back at Ushijima as he walks away, unable to shake off the intense gaze of the ace.

He wonders sometimes if he really knows Ushijima at all.

* * *

The moment Hajime enters the park, he sees a ball headed straight for him. He jumps and spikes it. It doesn’t go as far as he’d like, but he hit it. Oikawa is grinning at him.

“I wasn’t ready,” Hajime says in a voice that is most definitely not a whine.

“You hit it, didn't you?” Oikawa replies with a grin.

“Could've done it better,” Hajime shrugs. 

Iwaizumi Hajime plays volleyball because he likes it.

He remembers the morning after his first ever practice on the middle school team (which really, didn’t feel like anything compared to what he does now and what does being on a middle school team even mean anyway?) his whole body ached. He was a first year, and his mother told him to try a sport. His muscles had hurt, his legs felt like jelly, his arms were like lead. He nearly fell out of bed that morning and had stumbled into the kitchen and his mother had told him that he looked like death warmed over.

He remembers the sting in the palm of his hand when he hit his first spike, the burn of his knees when he dove head first for the ball. He remembers pushing himself so hard, so hard, so that he’d be useful. Because a good volleyball player is well rounded and because of the rotation, you have to be able to do everything. He remembers his legs collapsing underneath him when he practiced jumping, trying to go higher and higher each time. He remembers the burn and the sweat.

Some people on the teams he had played on had reasons: their mother forced them to do it, they were trying to be stronger, volleyball didn’t need anyone to run, they were inspired by someone. Hajime played volleyball because he liked it.

There was never a moment, never an instant in which Hajime decided that  _ this _ was the sport for him. There was no epiphany, no time when his palm made contact with the ball and he felt euphoria at the sensation of the ball going over the net. It just felt  _ right _ to him, and so he worked hard and he got better. He had no real drive other than a natural appreciation for the sport. 

Iwaizumi Hajime may like volleyball, but Oikawa Torū loves it.

It’s the way his eyes sparkle when he speaks about it, the way his hands are always trembling, itching to get his fingers on the ball. The way he pushes himself past his limits and keeps going, even when Hajime is sure he’s going to crash and fall. It’s in the way he leaps and dives for each ball like it’s the one that will decide the winner. He gives his everything to the entire game and it shows.

It’s the force, the concentration in his serve. It’s the way his eyes narrow and he analyzes, he tears apart the court and reconstructs it, seems to know everyone’s move before they make it, and adjusts himself so easily in order to accommodate it. 

Oikawa Torū thrives on it.

Hajime can’t help but feel inspired by him.

“Well, let’s get going,” says Oikawa with a grin.

Hajime isn’t sure how Ushijima has been looking at Oikawa, but Hajime can easily see the excitement and childlike wonder in his eyes when he holds the volleyball to his chest and it’s contagious so he smiles and nods, ready to play until his bones ache and he can barely move and he’s looking forward to it, actually.

* * *

Hajime can barely breathe, he’s been moving for so long he hasn’t even taken the time to stop and rest. Oikawa is just a bit off because of his knee, but it’s been a while and he’s getting better. Hajime is sure if Oikawa just let himself rest, the knee would mend itself all the more quickly, but he can’t bring himself to stop their practices. It’s like an adrenaline rush that feels like the best high in the world.

He sucks in a deep breath, trying to let out the air properly but he’s sure he’s struggling a bit, it’s hard not to want to take quick, small inhales but he knows it’s not what he’s supposed to do. 

They’re laying on the grass and Oikawa, he looks so pretty with his hair in the grass and the way his head is tilted up to the sun, it almost looks like there are small sundrops on his eyelashes. 

_ “Then get rejected.” _

Hajime can feel his heart in his throat. His stomach is going crazy and he’s not sure how to guarantee it won’t throw up his lunch. He gulps and swallows it down, his throat dry. Licking his lips, he turns to look at Oikawa and tries to calm down his nerves. “Oikawa?”

“Hmm?” 

_ You can do this. Just … do it.  _

“Do you …”

Oikawa turns to face him properly and Hajime is pretty sure he’s just swallowed his own tongue. Oikawa has his head rested on his palm, he’s laying on his side now and it looks like he’s ready for a photoshoot. Goddammit, how is Hajime supposed to keep his cool when he does things like this? 

“I mean … uh …”

“Iwa-chan, are you nervous?”

“Me? Nervous?”

Hajime is pretty sure his voice just cracked. That’s not a good thing. He feels like he has too many appendages and he doesn’t know what to do with them. He can’t just let his arms lay loosely by his side, it feels weird now and the grass tickles his skin and he’s not sure what to do. There’s so much he doesn’t know about Oikawa.

The problem with Oikawa Torū is he hits you like a hurricane.

Hajime has no idea what’s going on in his own head, he’s such a mess. Oikawa has so many features, from physical to mental, that leave him confused and dazed and stunned and yet he feels like a storm chaser, going after him still, seeing him again and again. A part of him feels like he’s being pushed back, each time he thinks he’s closer to him, but that’s not what’s happening. It’s almost like he’s being drawn in even more. Like he’s swirling around the storm, around all the chaos, and at the center, in the eye of it all, is Oikawa. 

Hajime is such a mess, he’s not even sure if he’s said it but Oikawa’s eyebrows shoot up and he figures he must’ve. Somehow. 

“What?”

_ Do I really have to say it again? _

Because Hajime isn’t sure if he can say it again. He feels like he’s swallowed his voice and his tongue feels swollen and it’s just kinda laying in his mouth, uselessly.

“Coffee?” he blurts out and then he wants to immediately take it back. 

“What about coffee?”

There’s something in Oikawa’s gaze. 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Me? Enjoy watching you flounder like a fish out of water? Never!”

“You’re evil. Pure evil. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“It’s the highest of compliments.”

Hajime rolls his eyes. “I’m trying to ask you to get coffee with me, so could you take this a little more seriously?”

Huh.

He did it.

He’s kinda amazed by himself. He should give himself a pat on the back. Oikawa grins at him, as though this is what he was aiming for when he tried to rile him up. 

“Like a date?”

“Er …”

“Hmm?”

“No, just like … two guys, getting coffee.”

_ Chicken _ , his mind says.

_ What else did you expect? _ he bites back.

“Alright, sure,” says Oikawa with a grin. “Wednesday?”

“Sure.”

Iwaizumi Hajime has two days to get his shit together for his not-a-coffee-date with Oikawa Torū.

* * *

_ Ugh, there’s a line. _

Kei stares at the menu, though there’s no reason to. He knows Yamaguchi’s order by heart, but it’s better to stare pointlessly at the menu than at the couple sitting by the window. Still, his treacherous eyes betray him and wander to his peripheral vision where he can see them, sitting together, laughing.

Yamaguchi is always getting on his back about how it is rude to stare at people in public. He’d probably be disappointed in Kei for not minding his own business.

Kei hates to admit he’s rather used to Yamaguchi being disappointed in him.

He’s incorrigible and tries not to let the guilt weigh him down too much when his eyes go to the couple again.

It’s probably one of those first date sort of things. Kei wouldn’t personally know, but he’s pretty sure that’s what the awkwardness in the air is. It’s thick and tangible, even though they are laughing together. The one with the dark hair looks uneasy, nervous, but a good kind of nervous. It reminds him too much of the shojo that Yamaguchi is always going on about. He wonders what Yamaguchi would say if he knew that Kei has already examined those shōjos and yet he still can’t figure out what makes the girls swoon.

Kei feels an unrest in his stomach and he’s unfortunately very familiar with the sensation as well.

_ Envy. _

He can’t be jealous, that would imply there’s something to lose. You can’t lose what you’ve never had. Envy though, envy describes him very well. It’s for want of that, of what they have. And whenever he thinks of those cheesy shōjo moments, with laughter and awkward first dates and holding hands underneath the table and giggling, and blushing for no reason, he thinks of a single person.

Kei ducks his head.

Envy doesn’t look good on him.

He orders the coffee and forces himself to wait, silently for it. His eyes once again go over to the couple. They look happy, nervous. The one with the dark hair is rubbing his neck constantly and the one with the chocolate hair is tossing his head back and laughing.

Kei hates them.

To show off what you have, so blatantly in front of others without a care in the world. How dare they?

He holds his tongue though, takes his order and bites his lip to stop himself from saying something as he passes them on his way out of the shop. 

He holds out Yamaguchi’s coffee for him, who takes it with a grin.

“How many times have I told you, Tsukki, you don’t have to get my coffee for me,” says Yamaguchi, but he grins and his freckles are so much clearer under the light of the sun. He shivers. “It’s cold.”

“It’s iced,” Kei says.

Yamaguchi says nothing as he takes a big sip, then suddenly holds his head. “Brain freeze!” 

Kei takes the coffee from Yamaguchi, and holds it out of his reach. “I won’t let you drink, unless you drink responsibly.” 

Yamaguchi pouts and Kei has to stop himself from doing anything stupid. He should be used to it now, he’s been holding back for years, but it’s always harder when Yamaguchi pouts.

“It’s okay, I’ll just ask Akiteru for one.”

Kei’s fist clenches. The cap pops off and the drink starts to drip down the side of his hand. Kei doesn’t notice.

_ Ah. _

_ Right. _

_ Akiteru. _

“Tsukki, you’ve gotta be more careful! What if it had been hot?”

_ It’s always Akiteru. _

“It wasn’t,” Kei deadpans, his lips almost quirking up in amusement at Yamaguchi fussing over him.

_ I knew you first. Why is he so special? _

“But what if it was? You can’t burn your fingers, you know you’re the best middle blocker we’ve got.”

_ I’m here. _

“I’m fine,” Kei says. “Tch, don’t worry about stupid things.”

_ Look at me. Focus on me. _

Yamaguchi is trying to clean up his hand, using a napkin, but it’s not really working. There’s a hole in the cup from Kei’s nails digging into it and now it’s leaking onto the ground as well. “We have to hurry, we can’t be late for practice.”

“Say it was traffic.”

Yamaguchi stops fussing over him and Kei hates to admit he misses it. “Tsukki …” His voice is quiet, small sounding.

_ No, wait. Not like that. I didn’t mean like that. _

“Do you really hate it that much?”

_ Why can’t I stop disappointing you? _

“Let’s go. We’ll be late.”

Kei walks past Yamaguchi, knowing he’ll follow. He climbs onto the bus and sure enough, Yamaguchi follows, standing squished against him in the crowded compartment. He grits his teeth and holds back the urge to wrap his arm around Yamaguchi. His grip on the pole is always too loose, he’ll inevitably crash into him.

The window in front of him allows him the perfect view of the couple who are still laughing. The dark haired one has seemed to calm down and now they’re just having fun.

_ Why can’t we be like that? _

The bus moves and the couple disappears from sight but they linger in Kei’s thoughts.

Envy really does not suit him.

* * *

Hajime struggles to catch his breath, holding his stomach when he feels like he should be holding his chest to stop his heart from lurching out of his throat. He has to hold the table to steady himself and Oikawa is grinning at him widely.

This is perhaps the most defenseless he’s ever seen Oikawa.

Hajime has to get himself to act before he stops himself and starts thinking too much. He hopes he’s read the atmosphere right. “Oikawa, what would you say if … if I said I wanted this to be a date?”

Oikawa doesn’t respond.

_ Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck. You screwed up. Screwed up big time. Take it back, don’t just sit there moping, take it back before things get weird! _

“Haha, I was just kidding,” Hajime says, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat. “I uh—”

It’s then that he realizes Oikawa isn’t even paying attention to him anymore.

Oikawa’s gaze is focused on the doorway to the coffee shop. Two people have just entered. A tall boy with dark hair and a considerably shorter boy with bright orange hair. Hajime recognizes them slightly. Weren’t they at the match a few weeks ago?

“Oikawa?” he asks, uncertain.

Oikawa’s pupils seem to have dilated, and he’s just focusing on the duo as they get in line and bicker over what they’re going to order. They look cute together; like they fit. “Oikawa?” he repeats.

“Hmm?” Oikawa’s head turns to him a bit too sharply and Hajime is a bit worried for his neck. “Were you saying something, Iwa-chan?”

“Uh, nothing important.”

They continue talking, but Hajime knows he doesn’t have Oikawa’s full attention. He’s distracted. He’s looking through the corner of his eye, glancing at the boys as they have their coffee and bicker some more. They kinda remind Hajime of an old married couple. 

It’s okay though, it’s not like this is an actual date, but still, Hajime can’t help but feel a bit jealous that these boys just seem to have taken most of Oikawa’s attention off of him. Hajime really thought they were doing well too. Oikawa seemed to be opening up more, seemed to be warming up to him in a way that was less than polite and more genuine.

Suddenly, the boys stand up from their seat and- are they walking over to them?

“How’s your knee, Oikawa-san?”

Oikawa jerks his head up to look at the boy with the dark hair. His eyes are really focused, almost narrowed on Oikawa, in a way that Hajime finds to be intimidating. “Ah, Tobio-chan! How are you and Shorty? Missed me while I’ve been at uni?”

_ They know each other? _

“Don’t call me that.”

_ Tobio-chan.  _

So Hajime’s not the only one who gets the honorific. It makes sense, it’s not like that specific honorific is reserved for him when it comes to Oikawa. He knows that; has always known that deep down inside of him, somewhere, but it still causes a useless flare of jealousy.

“How’s your knee, Grand King?” asks the carrot top.

“Grand King?” Hajime mouths at Oikawa, who waves it off.

“Was just a little fall,” says Oikawa, “no big deal!” He flashes a fake smile and Hajime catches it in an instant. Did his voice get hoarse? It sounds a tad gruffer than usual. “How’s your serve going?”

“None of your business.”

“Come on, tell your senpai how you’ve been,” teases Oikawa.

Hajime is starting to feel a bit uncomfortable if he’s being really honest. It’s like Oikawa hasn’t even remembered he’s here and it stings a bit.

“Are you on a date?” asks the short boy with the orange hair.

“Iwa-chan? Nah, we’re just hanging out.”

Hajime has to force the stupid balloon of hope to pop quietly. It still hurts, like all his thoughts about how this could’ve been a date have splattered across his stomach, and are being burned up by the acid. 

“It’s been nice seeing you,” says Tobio-chan, but Hajime gets the feeling he’s saying it more as a formality.

“Isn’t it always?” teases Oikawa and there’s a spark of something in his eyes that doesn’t feel fake, but it’s not real either. It’s confusing. 

The two leave the cafe and Oikawa clears his throats.

“Who was he?” asks Hajime cautiously, unsure of how Oikawa will react to his voice.

“Tobio-chan?” Oikawa seems to have just been pulled out of another universe; like he’s just been plopped back down on Earth and is figuring out his surroundings again. “Just a kouhai from middle school.”

Something tells Hajime it’s more than that.

“Listen, Iwa-chan, I’m not feeling too well. I know it’s rude, but would you mind if I just went home? I think all the extra practicing is finally catching up to me.”

Hajime knows not what to do other than to nod.

He’s left numb as Oikawa stands up, apologizes once more, flashes him a fake smile and then he’s gone, stuck with the bill and utter confusion. 

* * *

Torū doesn’t even feel all the shoving that usually comes with riding public transport. He bursts out the doors and runs quickly, sprinting down the road to his home and fumbles with his keys. It’s getting harder to keep them at bay, it’s been two months since the first fully formed flower, and he knows exactly what’s coming next.

The setter yanks open the door and then locks himself in his bathroom. He drops his bag onto the floor and falls to his knees, pushing the toilet seat up and opening his mouth above the toilet bowl. 

His body lurches forward, once, twice, thrice. Nothing. His stomach hurts, his sides hurt, it’s dry heaving and he’s pretty sure it’s bruising his ribcage. For a fleeting moment, he thinks it’s gone and maybe he just drank something weird at the cafe, but then it’s back and he knows what he has to do.

Torū places his fingers in his mouth and settles into a position that he is too familiar with now. He forces them down his throat and convulses as he coughs, sputtering. The majority of what comes out is spit and it’s gross. He wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve, but then there’s blood on his white jacket. His body keels forward and he holds his stomach, covers his mouth, licks his lips, anything to force it down.

There’s a metallic taste on his tongue and he hates it, hates it _so_ _much_ , but then against his w, ll his mouth opens again and he feels like he can’t breathe. He tries to keep quiet but the sound echoes off the tiled bathroom walls. He grips the toilet seat for steadiness and then it happens.

His windpipe feels clogged for several seconds and then there’s something that tastes disgusting in his mouth and he spits it out.

There are red speckles on the purple petals. 

Blood. 

His blood.

Torū knew this was going to happen. He knew it.

He thinks this is just unnecessary torture at this point. It hurts enough as it is, why make it worse? 

“Torū?”

The brunet freezes. His hands grip the toilet bowl so tightly, his knuckles turn white. He feels nauseous, like he’ll fall over any moment. His body can’t handle his weight, which is kind of preposterous, especially since he’s lost so much weight since it’s started. 

“I was in town, Takeru wanted to see you!”

Torū forces himself to stand up, though his legs feel wobbly.

He looks at himself in the mirror. He’s sweating, from the running, and his jacket now has a blood stain. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. He needs to be fast about it. He takes off his jacket and wraps it around his waist, making sure to hide the stain. He adjusts his hair quickly in the mirror and refuses to look at himself anymore. If he does he knows he’ll find an excuse to never speak to anyone again. He flushes the toilet and takes a deep breath.

He opens the bathroom door, a smile plastered onto his face. 

Takeru runs up to him and hugs him tightly.

“Torū-nii-san!”

The setter holds the boy close to him, and breathes in his smell. Takeru is always good for a pick-me-up. He doesn’t like to think about how quickly the smile on his face will be wiped away when they inevitably find him surrounded by violet flowers and a root in his throat. 

Cause of death?

Asphyxiation by beautiful flowers. 

The timer has started.

Torū knows he only has a few months left.

He’s going to miss this. The hugs, the family, his friends. Hell, he’s pretty sure he’s going to miss Iwaizumi a hell of a lot more than he ever expected himself to.

He wonders vaguely if anyone will miss him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Haikyūu!! I know, I know, it's been forever, and I said I'd update on a schedule. But then school/finals/exams/life happened and I know that's not and excuse, but it's all I've got. The chapter's short. I outlined every chapter and decided I wasn't going to focus on chapter-length, just make it however long I think it needed to be.

He should talk to him. 

Hajime knows he should talk to Oikawa, but what is he supposed to say? 

_Hey, so I payed the bill you left me with after you kinda ran out of our not-a-date after speaking to your kouhai. How you doing?_

Yeah right.

Hajime bounces from foot to foot outside the shop. He sees Oikawa sitting behind the counter and their eyes connect for a moment.

He can do this. 

The wing spiker is about to open the door when someone whizzes past him. 

It’s the dark haired boy from the coffee shop. Hajime slowly enters after him, standing in the corner as he watches Oikawa talk to him.

“I uh, I need something.”

“Flowers?” says Oikawa, with a stupid grin on his face. His gaze is entirely focused on the boy, Tobio-chan. It’s almost as though their moment of locking eyes never happened.

“Uh, right, yeah those.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“I uh … got a thing.”

“A thing?”

“With someone.”

There’s a flicker of something in Oikawa’s eyes before the smile settles on his face and Hajime has a bitter taste in his mouth.

He watches the rest of the exchange, as Oikawa carefully picks out flowers for whatever occasion Tobio-chan needs them for, gritting his teeth the whole time. 

Oikawa is humming to himself, something Hajime might’ve found adorable, if it didn’t feel like he was completely ignoring his existence.

Oikawa waves Tobio-chan off with a big grin on his face, but it slides off quickly once he’s out of sight. 

Hajime takes a tentative step forward towards Oikawa but suddenly the brunet covers his mouth and runs. He bolts to what appears to be the backroom, hitting his body against the door before forcing it open.

Hajime stands there, unsure what to do.

He hears scuffling and then things are falling over and glass is breaking and Hajime jumps over the counter and rips open the door.

His eyes scan the room.

Boxes have fallen over, a broken vase on the ground, flowers are scattered all around, and he can’t hear anything. It’s like the room is silent. But then he sees a bit of chocolate hair peeking out from behind a box and he scurries over.

Oikawa is bent over, one hand on the floor, another on his mouth, but his body is lurching forward. 

Hajime carefully walks around the broken shards of glass. He doesn’t want to spook the setter.

Once he’s closer he can hear it faintly.

Deep breaths that are being blocked by something. 

Oikawa’s face is turning blue, like he hasn’t inhaled in a long time. His hand blocks both his nose and his mouth. There are purple petals around him. 

Hajime looks for the bouquet it fell from, but all he sees is small drops of blood.

Did Oikawa cut himself on the glass?

A choked sob.

Hajime reaches out and he’s not sure if it’s the right thing to do, but he puts his hand on Oikawa’s. Oikawa’s head snaps up and he looks more than a little surprised and—

There are tear tracks running down Oikawa’s face but Hajime can barely even hear him. It’s a whimpering sound, akin to an injured dog and Oikawa’s face is turning purple—

“Breathe, Shittykawa!” Hajime screams, pulling Oikawa’s hand away from his face. 

Oikawa coughs and his eyes are watering, they look so scared, so confused. 

“Oikawa—”

Oikawa covers his mouth again and Hajime slowly pulls his hand away. He won’t let Oikawa suffocate himself.

There’s a small bit of blood on Oikawa’s lower lip. How did that get—

Hajime looks down.

The mysterious purple petals are in Oikawa’s hand.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says softly. His voice is hoarse, like he has a sore throat. He forces out a laugh. It sounds broken. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude not to knock?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Haikyūu!!, the transitions are weird. Sorry. Won't be around for a week, and I've got to get this up so I can return to comments. Maybe. If you want to.

_“Have a nice day!”_

_Torū smiled at the young boy buying flowers for his playground crush. He reminded Torū of himself, when he had been younger. “You too,” Torū replied. He rubbed his throat. It felt a bit itchy, and he couldn’t figure out why._

_That was when the door opened to the flower shop and_ **_He_ ** _walked in._

_“You work here now?” he asked._

_“I need to pay for tuition somehow,” Torū says. “Can I rely on you to be a regular customer?” he asks with a wink._

_“Tch,” the boy clicks his tongue._

_“What can I do for you today, Tobio-chan?”_

_Torū watched as the younger man’s eye twitched._

_He stifled a laugh._

_How long had he known Kageyama Tobio? Since his second year of middle school, that made it about six years. In the six years he had known him, Kageyama Tobio never seemed to smile. Not once._

_“Don’t call me that,” said the dark-haired setter with a grimace._

_“Ah ah ah, you didn’t answer my question,” Torū said. “I’m just doing my job.”_

_“I uh …” Kageyama bit his lip and looked away. His face was quickly turning red. “There’s a … thing.”_

_“A thing?” Torū repeated with a slight leer to his voice. “Oh my, well now I certainly know what you’re talking about~”_

_“Shut up,” Kageyama snapped. “I just … do you have protea?”_

_“Protea?” Torū repeated. “You mean those large flowers that look like they have a cactus at the center?” Torū stared at Kageyama, watching the way he turned even redder. Why would Kageyama take the time to know a flower by name? “What’s the occasion?”_

_“Just … no reason.”_

**_He’s flustered,_ ** _Torū realized._

_Something twinged in his stomach. Torū nodded slowly and retreated to the back room with all the flowers. “Those are kinda rare, they’re from South Africa, you know, kind of far from here,” he pointed out. “Do you want a bouquet, or just like, a single one? Or like an assortment?”_

_“Just one is fine.”_

_Torū picked a single protea and packaged it beautifully. He felt a tug in his chest as he handed it over to Kageyama, who gave him his best attempt at a grin (it looked kind of terrifying) and then left._

_That night, Torū keeled over the toilet bowl, dry heaving until the first bloody petal escaped his lips and he knew he could never tell anyone about it._

* * *

“How’d your date go?”

“It wasn’t a date.”

Hajime doesn’t need to hear the volleyballs hitting the court, or the sneakers squeaking against the floor, he knows they’re there. 

He’s sure his friends can tell he’s not really there. 

It’s been two days since he’s seen Oikawa, since he’s received a text from Oikawa and yet here he is, forty-eight hours later, with his mind still in that storage room.

* * *

_“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa said softly. His voice was hoarse, like he had a sore throat. He forced out a laugh. It sounded broken. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude not to knock?”_

_Hajime couldn’t speak._

_What was going on?_

_The wing spiker reached out, his fingers brushing the petals. They were soft, and beautiful. The flower looked a lot like a poppy, as if it had been dyed purple. The petal crumbled quickly underneath his callused finger. “How …?”_

_“I’m fine,” said Oikawa. His voice was hoarse._

_“Bullshit.”_

_“Iwa-chan—”_

_“_ **_Bullshit_ ** _,” Hajime repeated, more forcefully this time. “Tell me what’s going on.” He saw the look in Oikawa’s eyes. Those deep, rich chocolate pools of emotion were guarded, he was scared. Cornered. “Please,” he said softly._

_“I …” Oikawa licked his lips and leaned against a box, pressing his head against it, stretching out his leg. He glanced at Hajime and then, to Hajime’s surprise, started to laugh._

_It sounded self-deprecating._

_“Why didn’t you knock?” It was a whisper, barely there. It sent shivers down Hajime’s spine, like his voice had tickled his back. Oikawa closed his eyes and breathed in deeply through his nose. His body was shaking as he drew his next breath. “Why couldn’t you just …?”_

_Hajime didn’t know what to say. He wanted to do something with himself. He couldn’t speak, but he couldn’t handle the silence. His fingers itched to brush away the glass shards, to straighten the knocked over flowers. His arms almost reached out to pick up the petals that were scattered, or even to rub Oikawa’s back, but he forced down the impulse. This was Oikawa’s moment, Oikawa had to dictate what happened next._

_Yes, Hajime had walked in on something he got the feeling he should’ve never seen, but since he had taken that out of Oikawa’s control, Oikawa didn’t owe him any explanations. He had to remind himself of that._

**_Bite your tongue and wait. Maybe he’ll tell you, and if he doesn’t, that’s fine. You’re not that close to him, he’s under no obligation to tell you._ **

_Oikawa took several shaky breaths. He was more anxious than anything, not exactly nervous, just as though he was getting over a sudden adrenaline rush and was coming down from the high. He picked up a small flower and twirled it in his palm. “Have you ever been in love, Hajime?”_

_Hajime felt his voice get caught in his throat. He had never heard his first name from Oikawa’s lips before. He had to fight down the thought that he rather liked the way it sounded coming from Oikawa’s mouth. Now was not the time to think about something like that. This was about Oikawa, not him and his pointless crush._

_“I uh …” He eyed Oikawa. “Do you actually want me to answer that?”_

_“Mmm,” Oikawa said, looking at him expectantly._

_“Well, uh, not that I know of. I mean … I don’t really know what love is, like aside from loving my mother. I’ve_ **_liked_ ** _people before,” he bit back “I like you”, and instead focused on calming his racing thoughts. “I’ve dated, I’ve had crushes. I don’t think I’ve ever … been in love before, whatever that means. I mean it’s different for everyone, right? Maybe I have been and I just never knew?”_

_Oikawa chuckled, low and hollow. “Lucky.” The word sounded bitter._

_“Huh?”_

_“Don’t do it.” Oikawa pulled his knee to his chest and rested his head on it. He coughed lightly, but his whole knee trembled, his whole body shook. A small petal escaped from his lips, just as beautiful as the ones before it. “0/10, would not recommend.”_

_They fell into silence._

_Oikawa suddenly dragged himself off of the floor and straightened out his clothes. “Well, my pity fest is over. You best get out of here, I’ve got cleaning to do.” His foot lightly kicked at the glass shards, pushing them out of the way._

* * *

“Oi, Iwaizumi-san?” 

Hajime is pulled out of his thoughts just in time before a volleyball can hit him in the face.

“Take the day off, you’re seriously not going to get anything done this way,” says the Captain with a sigh.

“But—”

“No buts, you’re useless this way.”

 _They don’t have to say it like that,_ Hajime thinks to himself but he packs up his bags and gets into his car. Before he can really think about it, he’s at the small flower shop once more. 

They really do need to talk about this. 

* * *

Hajime can see there’s no one else in the shop, so he gets out of his car and enters. Oikawa is behind the counter, mumbling to himself.

“Oikawa?”

The setter looks up, appearing rather startled. “Iwa-chan!”

Hajime thinks now is not the time to miss the sound of his first name. 

“Look—”

“Look—”

“No, you go first—”

“No, you go first—”

Oikawa turns red. It’s the first time Hajime has ever seen such a thing and to be honest, it looks adorable. 

“You go first,” Hajime says, gesturing with his hand, feeling useless.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Hajime repeats. “ _You’re_ sorry? Why the fuck are you sorry?”

Oikawa must be really distracted because he doesn’t tease Hajime about his language. 

“Because it was … weird,” says Oikawa with a shrug. “I just … I lashed out at you…” The brunet plays with his fingers and stares at the ground. “I shouldn’t be bothering you with my shit, it’s my shit and I have to deal with it. I was very … dramatic a few days ago and I’m sorry for that. You weren’t supposed to know about it.” _No one was supposed to know_ goes unsaid. He looks at Hajime through his hair. It’s falling in his face, which rarely seems to happen. He must be a real mess. “So … are we okay?”

“I didn’t know we weren’t okay,” Hajime says honestly. “I was going to apologize. I mean, you’re right, I should’ve knocked, and besides that, it was … it was an invasion of privacy. And I think I made you say things you didn’t want to and I’m sorry for … making you feel like you had to tell me your secrets just because I had walked in when I shouldn’t have.”

“I’m … kind of glad you walked in,” Oikawa says so softly, Hajime almost doesn’t hear it. “I … I probably would’ve suffocated myself if you hadn’t been there.”

Hajime drums his fingers on the counter and takes a deep breath. He came here and he has something to say Goddammit and he will, he will manage it somehow. “If … I mean, I know we’re not close, we barely even know each other, but … if you want to talk to someone, you could … talk to me. I’m not really good at … this sort of thing, but I can try. I may not always know what to say, but … but I’ll always listen. If you ever …” Hajime shakes his head. “Never mind, it’s dumb—”

Oikawa cuts him off by placing his hand over Hajime’s trembling fingers as they tap out a nonsensical rhythm on the countertop. “Thanks … Hajime.”

Hajime’s breath catches in his throat and he swallows it down. “No problem.”

* * *

Torū knows he should tell him.

Iwaizumi deserves to know, and it’s not like curiosity is not going to get the better of him. The setter wants to tell him before he finds out on his own. 

Iwaizumi worries, Torū knows that. He’s probably making him worry needlessly. Well, not needlessly exactly; Torū is dying after all. But he knows he should clear up misunderstandings quickly.

He just can’t bring himself to do it.

There’s something about Iwaizumi. 

Iwaizumi is a new addition to Torū’s life. He’s only known him for about two months, and yet he sees through him so easily and it unnerves him. He doesn’t know Torū’s little secrets, the things that he hides from everyone else, but Torū can feel his walls crumbling easily under Iwaizumi’s gaze.

He’s scared.

He’s a big boy, he can admit it.

Oikawa Torū is terrified of Iwaizumi Hajime.

But he does deserve to know. 

With trembling fingers, he takes out his phone and begins a text he never thought he’d ever send.

 _Can we talk?_ (20:21)

He shuts his eyes and waits for a response. 

To his surprise, he doesn’t have to wait very long for the reply.

 **Something wrong?** (20:22)

Torū’s thumbs hover over the keyboard, unsure what to say. 

This isn’t a conversation you have over text, but then again, he feels like this isn’t a conversation you have at all. So how do you go about explaining your disease to someone, despite the fact that you thought you’d be keeping it to your fast-approaching grave?

 _Is it too late to ask to meet up?_ (20:24)

 **Oikawa, you’re worrying me.** (20:24)

 **What’s going on?** (20:24)

Torū takes a deep breath, and tries to ignore the uneasy feeling in his stomach. This isn’t going to be easy and he knew that, but somehow this is even harder. 

 _It’s a bit late, never mind._ (20:26)

 **If you think 8:30 is late, you’re clearly less cool than I thought you were. I’ll be there in ten minutes, don’t move.** (20:27)

Torū blinks at the message. 

The setter hasn’t got the slightest idea how Iwaizumi managed to make him laugh and comfort him better than when he marathons _E.T._ and eats buckets of ice cream and it’s only after watching the film for the seventh time does he start to feel marginally better.

 _Do you even know where I am?_ (20:28)

 **Um … send me the address?** (20:30)

 _Don’t tell me you’ve been wandering in your car and were too prideful to ask me where I was._ (20:30)

 **…** (20:30)

Torū sends him the address, rolling his eyes.

Once he puts his phone down, he starts to panic.

Pacing a hole into the floor and practicing what he’s going to say is hard. 

Torū has done many stressful things, from being the deciding server in a match, to having to look after Takeru and somehow, not kill him while his sister was away for two hours because she mistakenly trusted her younger brother with a life form that Torū had no idea what to do with. 

Somehow telling Iwaizumi is more stressful than anything else the brunet had ever done. 

Torū runs his fingers through his hair and tries to calm his breathing. 

_You’ve got this. Just don’t overthink it. Stop freaking out, remember you’re the one who decided you’d tell him, you can’t back out now._

The door to his house is opened and Torū jumps.

“Oikawa?”

 _Abort,_ **_abort!_ **

Torū can feel the world spinning and he’s not sure if it’s nerves or another coughing attack coming on. He slowly walks out of his room and faces the music.

“Iwa-chan … hey.”

“Hey yourself,” says Iwaizumi. Torū expects a playful grin to be accompanying his words, but his eyes are dead serious. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t believe him.

“Um, do you want something to drink?” Torū goes into the kitchen, and gestures for Iwaizumi to follow. “I’ve got tea, coffee, or do you want a soft drink?”

“What do you want to talk about?” 

Torū’s hands are trembling as he takes some tea out of the cupboard. He shuts his eyes tightly, his back turned to Iwaizumi. 

_You’ve got this._

“I thought … I owe you an explanation about … last Friday?”

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen at his words. “You … you don’t have to. I can tell it’s personal.”

Iwaizumi is giving him the perfect way out. It really is a sensitive topic, something hard to talk about, something he’d rather not talk about at all. Something he wishes wasn’t happening to him. 

He could take it, apologize for dragging Iwaizumi out, and making things weird. He could say he’s tired and he didn’t mean to, that he’d rather just forget about it and he knows Iwaizumi would let him.

“No, you deserve to know.”

Because Oikawa Torū never takes the easy way out.

Iwaizumi nods and Torū takes a seat across from him. He bites his lip and feels his hands are still shaking. He folds them in his lap so he won’t see the tremor. 

“Have you … ever heard of the Hanahaki disease?”

Iwaizumi is silent.

“Um … this is going to sound so ridiculous,” Torū laughs at himself. “Er, basically, when you fall in love with someone, and they don’t … I mean, like it’s not … _wanted_ , then this plant …” Torū shakes his head. This sounds like some kind of horrible sci-fi plot or something. Torū might have loved the plot if it weren’t happening to him. “It grows inside of you?” He rubs his throat, almost unconsciously. “And uh, eventually, if not treated, it’ll grow and eventually … it’ll suffocate you.”

There’s silence. 

“So … yeah … I … fell in love with somebody I wasn’t supposed to, and now I’m coughing up bloody petals.” 

It sounds so ridiculous when he says it that way.

Torū plays with his fingers. They’re still trembling and he almost wants to bite his nails but he holds himself back. He gazes down at the floor, at the floor that needs more cleaning, at the dust on the soles of his socks. The brunet slowly looks up behind a curtain of his hair, and tries to gauge Iwaizumi’s reaction.

Iwaizumi seems to be deep in concentration. It’s a lot to take in and Torū had thrown away all the prepared scripts and possible ways of putting it. He can imagine Iwaizumi’s thoughts.

_Is he lying? Am I dreaming? Who is it? He’s dying? Why doesn’t he just get treatment? How long has this been happening? Does anyone else know? Would he have told me if I hadn’t walked in when I did?_

Torū is about to open his mouth and break the silence before it suffocates him, when—

“What are they?”

Torū blinks. “What?”

“The flowers. What kind are they?”

Torū is _not_ expecting that.

“Uh, amenones,” Torū says. “You’re not ... “

“I’m not what?”

“I mean … I told you I’m slowly dying from flowers cutting off the passage way for air to my lungs, and that’s all you have to say?”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, but it’s good naturedly. “Obviously I have more questions, but I mean it obviously took a lot for you to tell me, so I think that’s enough confessions for one night.”

“You’re not going to tell me I’m lying? Or that I’m stupid?” 

“Why would I think you’re lying? I saw them,” Iwaizumi says. “And besides, you’re not stupid. You can’t control something like who you like.”

“I …”

Torū can feel his eyes are starting to sting. He better not cry. He cried once in front of Iwaizumi and he never wants to do such a thing again. He bites his bottom lip, swallowing down the lump in his throat and chides himself. He can’t let the tears fall. 

Torū can’t open his mouth. He’s scared of what’ll come out, that it’ll be a whimper, or a whine. He’s terrified he’ll start crying, his lip is trembling, almost as bad as his whole body. He’d be mortified if he collapsed into Iwaizumi’s arms and he’s sure the man wouldn’t know what to do with a mess as big as Torū in his arms. He sits on his hands to stop himself from reaching out, from doing anything stupid. 

“I’m glad you told me,” Iwaizumi says softly. “I … I don’t really know what I can do to help, but I’ve been told talking to people helps. So I’m glad I could be of assistance. That makes it sound like some kind of business deal, doesn’t it? Um, I just mean I’m here. If you want to talk. About stupid things, or serious things. Either is fine. Just … I’m here.” 

There’s that blush again, taking over Iwaizumi’s features.

The setter stares at the man in front of him. 

He barely knows him, has known him perhaps two months at best? And yet here he is, telling him his darkest secret and though the words out of Iwaizumi’s mouth sound cheesy, there’s a sincerity in his eyes that tells Torū he means every word.

Torū clenches his fist tightly and bows his head, hoping that Iwaizumi can understand what he means without words.

_Thank you._

* * *

_It hurts._ (0:12)

Hajime’s eyes snap open the moment he sees the notification on his phone. 

His thumbs fiddle over the keypad and he’s not sure what to say, what _can_ he say? But the three dots are appearing again so he clamps his mouth shut and forces his eyes to remain open. 

Oikawa needs this. He’s sure of it.

 _Like some days it doesn’t, if I don’t think about it_. (0:14)

 _But then something will remind me of him._ (0:14)

 _And it hurts again._ (0:14)

 _Why does it have to hurt?_ (0:15)

 _And it’s kinda weird. It hurts a lot and then at the same time, it doesn’t hurt at all._ (0:16)

 _Like I’m used to it now._ (0:16)

 _I don’t know if the pain or the fact that I barely notice it anymore is worse._ (0:16)

 _Iwa-chan?_ (0:20)

 _Sorry if I’m bugging you._ (0:21)

 _I’ll let you sleep._ (0:21)

Hajime has never typed so fast.

 **NO!** (0:22)

 _???_ (0:22)

 _You sound panicked. Something wrong?_ (0:22)

 **Shouldn’t I be asking you that?** (0:23)

 _I can’t sleep. I have insomnia._ (0:23)

 _Entertain me?_ (0:23)

Hajime makes himself comfortable in his bed, reclining his head back. 

He should sleep, he has a test tomorrow, but it’s been two days and Oikawa has kept his distance. Hajime didn’t push him because he didn’t want to come on too strong, and he feels as if Oikawa is letting him in now since their late night conversation.

 **What house are you?** (0:24)

 _House?_ (0:24)

 _OMG, Iwa-chan, are you a Potterhead?_ (0:24)

 **…** (0:24)

 _You totally are! Aw, that’s so cute!_ (0:25)

 **You’re totally a Slytherin.** (0:25)

 _What? So mean, Iwa-chan~_ (0:25)

 **I bet you were that kid who liked to watch insects burn under a magnifying glass.** (0:26)

 _And if I was?_ (0:26)

 **Told you. Slytherin**. (0:26)

 _It was in the name of science!_ (0:26)

 **Whatever you say, Shittykawa.** (0:26)

 _Rude~_ (0:26)

 _If I’m a Slytherin, you’re a Hufflepuff._ (0:26)

 **I’m okay with that.** (0:27)

 **Newt’s a Hufflepuff, he’s cool.** (0:27)

 _Fuck, you’re right._ (0:28)

 _Dammit._ (0:28)

 **Ha.** (0:29)

 _Anyone ever tell you how rude you are, Iwa-chan?_ (0:29)

 **Whatever.** (0:29)

 _Wanna play 21 questions?_ (0:29)

 **Oikawa.** (0:29)

 **Seriously?** (0:29)

 _Yup. Now we’ve got 19 left. My question. Who’s your Doctor?_ (0:31)

 **You counted that as a question.** (0:31)

 **You ACTUALLY counted that as a question.** (0:32)

 **And you don’t need to know my doctor, unless you plan on injuring me anytime soon.** (0:32)

 _No, not your doctor, your Doctor. Capital D_. (0:32)

 **What, like my dick?** (0:32)

 **Is this supposed to be some kind of weird kink of yours or something?** (0:32)

 _So dirty minded Iwa-chan~_ (0:33)

 _No, like Doctor. Time lord? Ring a bell?_ (0:33)

 **Oh you mean Doctor Who!** (0:33)

 **Isn’t he that old guy with the somewhat curly hair?** (0:34)

 _That was the old Doctor. The new Doctor is a girl! Only took them some fifty odd years to get around to it._ (0:34)

 **Isn’t the Doctor married? To like that woman with the frizzy hair? Does that make his wife a bisexual? Since like, she married him, but now he’s a she?** (0:34)

 _Maybe. I mean I didn’t really think about it like that._ (0:34)

 **So you’re a huge sci-fi dork, is that what I’m supposed to assume?** (0:35)

 **Are we gonna get into an argument about Star Trek VS Star Wars?** (0:35)

 _I mean we could, but I doubt you have enough time for that._ (0:35)

 _Sorry for waking you up, by the way._ (0:35)

**Whatever you need, Oikawa.**

Hajime stares at the words he’s written and blinks. Okay no, that’s not good. 

He quickly erases it but he knows he has to say something because Oikawa has probably seen those annoying three dots that give away that he’s been writing something. 

_Quick, think of something!_

**Did you know pineapples come out of the ground?** (0:36)

 _Seriously? That’s weird. I don’t believe you._ (0:36)

 **Look it up. It’s true.** (0:36)

 _My whole life is a lie._ (0:39)

 **Don’t be overdramatic.** (0:39)

 _But like … HOW??!!_ (0:39)

 **You think I know everything?** (0:40)

Hajime texts Oikawa until four in the morning and it’s once he walks into school looking like a zombie with only three hours of sleep to tackle a major test, something occurs to him.

Hajime is totally screwed when it comes to Oikawa Torū.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't own Haikyūu!! I swore I'd have a normal updating schedule, but then like, that didn't happen. Either way, I'm sorry that updates are so spastic but school and stuff and just ... I'm uh, running a D&D campaign now? So that's been consuming my life and I also kinda write when I get inspired, and sometimes I'm not inspired for X story that I SHOULD be working on. Don't worry, the whole story is figured out, written out in vague outlines, I just need to actually WRITE IT. I thought about writing the whole story and then posting in normal intervals, but I get too excited the moment the 1st chapter is done and that's why I'm always so weird with updates .... Sorry.

“Tell me about them.”

Torū almost chokes on his water. He has to inhale deeply and pound his chest to make sure nothing gets stuck, but once he’s done, he glances over at Iwaizumi. 

“I … er …”

“I’m curious about who caught your attention,” Iwaizumi says. “Besides, we could use a break.” He frowns. “Does it hurt too much? You don’t have to—”

“It hurts a lot. Like my lungs are filled with water even though I’m on dry land,” Torū says. It feels good to let it all out. “I mean, there’s the coughing and the petals and the blood, but there’s more. It’s like there’s something that’s always clawing at my throat, and I’m scared that each time I swallow, something is going to pierce me and I won’t ever be able to speak again.” He pulls his knees to himself and feels the heat of the sun beating down on him. He still feels cold. “It’s complicated.” 

It’s weird to put his thoughts into words, to try and explain to Iwaizumi, because Torū has never had to put such things into words and he finds it difficult, but he wants to tell him. So he licks his lips and continues.

“You know when you’re on a rollercoaster and you’re at an incline, climbing up the mountain before the drop? You feel a bit unsteady, a bit anxious, but like, you _know_ it’s going to be fun. You’ve been on the ride a hundred times before but because of the sound the tracks make when you ride up, you still feel like it’s going to break any second? So you’re nervous, but you’re also excited cause you know the high of that moment when your stomach drops once you finally fall? It’s … it’s like that.” He frowns. “I don’t think I’m making sense.”

“No, I think I get it. It’s the anxiety and fear, but at the same time the anticipation of something great, which you know is waiting for you if you can just let yourself fall.”

“Yeah,” Torū says breathlessly. “Exactly.”

Iwaizumi is looking at Torū with something in his eyes that Torū can’t name. 

“Did you know you liked them immediately?”

“What, like love at first sight?” Torū snorts. “No, I _hated_ them. But … they grew on me. It was hard _not_ to like them. They just … they were so real.” _Unlike me._ “I was envious in the beginning. 

“They were just so … _good_ at everything and I felt like I could never achieve something like that. I still can’t, but I think I’m getting closer.

"But then … there was this one day, I turned the corner and I saw them, standing there, looking very perplexed. It was one of the most concentrated expressions I had ever seen on someone before, and all they were doing was choosing a milk carton from a vending machine.” Torū laughs. “They got mad at the machine, the carton got stuck so they looked both ways before kicking it, trying to get it to give in. They got on their hands and knees, sticking their arm into the machine and feeling around it. They shook the entire thing, I thought it would fall on them. It almost did. It was an epic battle: human vs machine, and it looked like the machine was winning, but then they picked the lock of the door, and manually pulled out the milk they wanted, before closing it back up.”

“That’s one determined person.”

“Yeah, he was.” 

Torū freezes.

_Shit._

“I mean …” 

He’s sweating profusely. 

It’s weird, he knows it is. It’s practically a rule of life, boys marry girls and have children and then the cycle repeats. Torū feels like there must be something wrong with him, that he likes a boy the way he does. 

He ducks his head down.

Iwaizumi will probably leave now. He probably doesn’t want to associate with someone like him—

“Go on.”

Torū looks up at Iwaizumi in confusion. 

 _Why are you still here?_ It goes unasked with words, but the question is written all over his face.

Iwaizumi gives him a look that seems to say “why wouldn’t I still be here?”

Shakily, Torū draws in a new breath. “I didn’t fall in love with him then, but I think that was the first time I saw him as human.” Saying “him” feels so taboo, when he’s thinking about someone romantically, but he manages it anyway. It feels … _liberating_ to say it, finally aloud. “The look of satisfaction when he got his milk, and then the look of panic when he realized he’d be late for class. I can’t believe I spent an entire lunch break watching him fight with a vending machine …” Torū shakes his head. “I don’t know, I guess that was when I started paying more attention to him, but not to look for his weaknesses, just to see him. 

“Things that used to annoy me about him suddenly made me smile, like the way he always checked to make sure his shoes were tied before he got on the court, or the really serious look he’d get when he was looking at the play board. I wasn’t ready for it, and then … well and then a few months ago this started to happen,” Torū gestures to his throat helplessly.

Iwaizumi is silent, allowing Torū to collect his thoughts and calm himself down. 

His whole chest hurts. There’s always a dull ache, but whenever he really thinks about him, that’s when the coughing starts. He’s gotten better at pushing it down but with his thoughts entirely consumed of him it’s hard for him not to feel the stem making its way up his throat.

Torū blinks rapidly and swallows multiple times, trying to force it down. A cough comes out anyway and a single purple petal escapes his lips. It’s speckled lightly with blood. He wipes his mouth with his arm and wishes the petal would just burn up. 

“It’s that guy, isn’t it?”

“What guy?” Torū asks, looking over at Iwaizumi whose brows are furrowed in concentration. He’s thinking hard. The crease in his brow makes Torū want to smooth it out for him, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even know what he’s thinking anymore.

“The tall one. The one who hangs out with the orange haired shorty.”

“Is it that obvious?” Torū asks softly, his eyes downcast.

“No, but I mean you always seem … off when he’s around.”

“There’s no need to lie to me, Iwa-chan, I know you can see through me.”

“It’s not obvious, really, it’s not,” Iwaizumi insists. “I just noticed because … well because I notice you. A lot.”

“Aw, does Iwa-chan like me?”

“Don’t say stupid things, Trashykawa.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” Torū says and he manages a genuine laugh when Iwaizumi threatens to pour his water on him. “You’re such a tsundere, Iwa-chan!” 

Iwaizumi squirts some of his water at Torū. The cold is refreshing and he knows he shouldn’t push it by saying something about how Iwaizumi is just proving his point, so he doesn’t say anything and instead basks in this feeling of calmness that he hasn’t had in a long time.

Torū needs this. A lot more than he thought he did.

Torū has acquaintances, he has family friends and family, he has teammates, but for the first time, Oikawa Torū feels he has a friend and it’s wonderful.

* * *

Tobio looks down at Hinata’s hand, so close to his, and yet not quite close enough. They’re basically walking on top of each other; the gymnasium is so full of people and yet he feels skittish when their hands accidentally brush. He tries to force down a blush and is grateful for the crowd so that Hinata won’t see it.

 _This is almost like a date, isn’t it? Going to see a game together._ In which case, this is their second date. _Yeah._

He wonders if Hinata thinks of this sort of thing as a date.

They find their seats and Tobio scans the court. 

Oikawa seems to be doing better since his fall, and it still doesn’t make sense to him why he fell, but he can’t bother himself too much with thoughts of him when Hinata is right next to him (oh God, how did he get here?)

“Smells like Salonpas!” 

Tobio is pretty sure it’s pathetic how adorable he thinks Hinata is for thinking the court smells like a pain-relieving product that’s sold over the counter. Watching the middle blocker take in the smell of a new gymnasium is always fascinating. His eyes light up and you know instantly there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

“Who’s playing this time?”

“Oikawa-san is against Ushijima-san,” says Tobio. He points below at Ushijima who is practicing his serve, then points to Oikawa, who’s doing warm-up tosses. He doesn’t want to mention how, despite it being a practice match, he had asked Oikawa if he could come anyway. Any reason to be with Hinata outside of school, and yet still have it be about volleyball. He’s willing to take any excuse.

“Hmmm,” Hinata says pensively. “Who do you think will win?”

“Ushijima-san.”

“You’re not even going to think about it?”

“Do _you_ think Oikawa-san will win?”

Hinata’s brows furrow. “I mean, he could, technically.”

“But how probable is it?”

Tobio is pretty sure he shouldn’t be as amused by Hinata’s thinking face as he is. There’s something sparkling just below the surface that’s totally captivating about the orange head and he feels compelled to say that it’s something that’s just … without words. 

“I mean I kind of want to give Oikawa-san a chance, but at the same time …”

“Hmm?”

“It’s Ushijima.”

“Exactly.”

Tobio can do this. This is easy.

He can deal with his own internal fantasies of what his relationship with Hinata is and what it’s not and what he wants it to be. There’s no need to push himself to act like friendship with Hinata isn’t fulfilling, because it is, in its own way, their friendship is something concrete and meaningful and it’s not a consolation prize.

Still, he can’t help wanting more.

“Think his knee’s better?”

Tobio is brought out of his thoughts by Hinata’s cheerful voice. “Dunno, doesn’t matter though, Ushijima is totally going to win.” 

He hopes the boy doesn’t notice the way he’s looking at him like he makes the moon shine.

He’s sixteen, he should be less embarrassed and yet he still feels stupid.

Still though, Hinata makes his stupidity worth it.

* * *

He sees the instant it’s going to happen. 

He’s learnt to identify the signs of when he’s about to have an attack. He sees it once again in slow motion, watching as his chest lurches forward instinctively and he sways. His movements lose their graceful nature and Hajime can see the moment the King trips.

Oikawa collapses and Hajime is on his feet and he’s running and he has to duck to get under the net and he slides against the floor and then he’s got his hand on Oikawa’s shoulder and he’s trying to hoist him up but his legs aren’t working and dammit Shittykawa, _fucking work with me here!_

“M’fine,” Oikawa mumbles, holding out an arm to balance himself.

“Bullshit,” Hajime hisses as he wraps Oikawa’s arm around his neck. He holds him up and can see from the corner of his eye that a certain dark haired audience member is making their way towards them.

“Oikawa-san—”

“BACK THE FUCK OFF!” Hajime snaps. He can feel a growl starting from the depths of his throat, making his chest rumble, and he just barely stops himself from baring his teeth. 

 _Don’t act concerned, it’s your fucking fault._  

There’s a part of him that knows it really isn’t, because he doesn’t know. He just _doesn’t know_ that he’s causing Oikawa to go through hell and somehow his ignorance is worse.

Hajime knows he can’t stop something he doesn’t know he’s doing, but the main problem isn’t even that he’s angry at him, because he’s really not. It’s just that as someone who wants to help Oikawa so much, to be able to do nothing, it pierces him and it’s at times like these that he realizes his sheer inability to do anything. His helplessness, his uselessness hits him full force and it’s always easier to lash out than to deal with it.

It’s not healthy, he knows. He’s working on it.

Later.

For now, he just wants to scream.

“Is Oikawa-san okay?” The boy’s brow is furrowed with worry and Hajime has to nearly bite his tongue to stop himself from snapping at him, from telling him everything because he knows Oikawa wouldn’t want that. 

“No, just leave him alone,” says Hajime through gritted teeth. He can do this; he can act civil. It’s hard for him to remember how to act with a clear head.

Hajime can feel Oikawa struggling against him; he’s trying to stand on his own, but his knee has gotten more fucked up than before and he visibly cringes. Oikawa tucks himself into Hajime’s collarbone, and the wing spiker has to take a moment to breathe in deeply. 

_He’s freaking out, don’t make it worse with hormones._

“Iwaizumi!” his coach yells. “What are you doing?”

Hajime feels Oikawa step forward, his body convulses forward and without thinking his feet move on their own.

Hajime isn’t really thinking and the next thing he knows, he’s in the bathroom, crowded in the stall, and he’s rubbing Oikawa’s back, watching as the petals fall. He’s silent, unsure of what to say even if he could muster up the ability to speak.

More than the flowers, which are tragically beautiful in many ways, Hajime can’t help but focus on the blood. There are no thorns in sight on the steam, but then Oikawa is falling forward and his hair falls into his face and while Hajime knows what the whole thing means his friend is closer to dying with each petal, he can’t help but find beauty in the way the red stains the water.

Hajime can’t help but wonder if perhaps things would be easier on Oikawa if he loved Hajime instead.

* * *

They're in the bathroom and his throat hurts so much, and Iwaizumi is here with him, and he wants to push him away because he shouldn't have to see this, once was enough to be seen this vulnerable and weak, but he can't push him away.

“I know you probably don’t want to hear this,” Iwaizumi says in a soft voice, “so I’m going to say it really quietly and you can pretend you didn’t hear it.” Torū feels Iwaizumi’s warm hand rubbing his back, making him shiver. “I know you hate it, _I_ hate it, it’s hurting you for something you can’t control, but … I think they’re beautiful.”

Torū lets out a dry laugh as he stares at the petals that are ruining his life. 

_Love fucking sucks._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't own Haikyūu!! Have fun with this chapter.

 

Kageyama Tobio is a second year student at Karasuno high school on the island of Miyagi. He is the official setter for the team and has been since he first joined last year, choosing Karasuno after being rejected by Shiratorizawa. He is famous for his quick attack with his partner, Hinata Shōyō, known as the Second Little Giant. The two make a formidable duo that work like a well oiled machine. Said to be a volleyball prodigy, great things are expected of Kageyama Tobio in the future and word has it that the Olympic team might be recruiting him soon.

Hajime is not impressed.

He’s especially not impressed when he opens the doors to the Karasuno gym and calls out Kageyama’s name and watches the boy fumble his jump serve and get hit in the head by his volleyball. 

His form is familiar. Too familiar.

“Who taught you that?” Hajime finds himself asking, striding across the gymnasium floor. 

“Hey, hold on,” says a voice, and then there’s a third year standing in front of him, a hand on Hajime’s chest. He looks pretty harmless, pretty unassuming. Kind of dull, if Hajime is being honest. “You can’t just barge into our practice, who are you?”

“Eh, isn’t that the guy who was with Grand King-san?”

Hajime’s head jerks in the direction of the little short carrot top’s voice and he growls. 

“Ennoshita-san, help!” yelps the shortie.

“I’ll ask again, who are you?” demands the third year with his hand on Hajime’s chest. 

_Ennoshita-san?_

“I want to talk to Kageyama Tobio.”

“What do you want with my setter?” repeats Ennoshita-san, his voice dropping deeper, his gaze narrowing. Suddenly, he’s radiating authority. 

Hajime’s not intimidated by him, but he can see why the others might respect him. He seems … stable. Dependable, in an unassuming way that comes naturally to him. 

“I just want to talk.”

“You can wait till practice is over—”

“Are you a spy?” demands a player who has taken off their shirt.

“Tanaka-senpai, put your shirt back on!” 

Ennoshita-san sighs and breathes in deeply. “TANAKA, LAPS, NOW!”

“Eh? But—”

“NOW!”

The player without his shirt jumps to attention and starts running around the gym, wordlessly. 

Hajime rolls his eyes. 

It seems as though this Ennoshita-san is running a circus that needs a little work. 

“I just want to talk to your setter—”

“And I’ll repeat, you can when we’re finished.”

“When do you finish?” 

“Not now,” Ennoshita-san says. “I’m going to kindly ask you to wait for a more opportune time—”

“Wait, Ennoshita-san,” says Kageyama suddenly, taking a step forward. The whole gym is a bit confused and Hajime can understand why; a complete stranger has turned up and interrupted their practice. The orange top is practically jumping on his toes, like he can’t contain his energy, and he needs to play _now_ or else he’s going to lose it, there’s a short player with dyed hair who looks like their libero, who seems ready to fight anyone, especially for interrupting their practice and a few other faces that stand out in the sea of confused expressions. “Is this about Oikawa-san?”

“Kageyama—”

“I’ll speak to him now, Ennoshita-san, if I may,” says Kageyama, walking to Hajime with his head held a bit too high for Hajime’s liking, like he thinks he’s in control of the situation.

Hajime waits as Ennoshita-san lets him go and eyes Kageyama carefully before telling everyone to take a small break.

“Is Oikawa-san okay?” asks Kageyama once they’re outside and Hajime hates it.

There’s genuine worry in his voice, and it would be so much _easier_ to hate Kageyama if he made himself an unlikeable person. 

Hajime is trying to find fault in him, from his short hair that looks a bit weird if he’s being honest (but that’s really biased, he can admit that), his uniform looks perfect on him, he’s not even sweating disgustingly. Hajime knows nothing about him and yet he’s just looking, for some sign that it’s okay to hate him for a reason other than the pain he’s causing Oikawa without knowing it. 

That might be the worst part.

Kageyama _doesn’t know_ that he’s hurting Oikawa, and he can’t blame him for something he doesn’t know is happening. His whole existence is pissing Hajime off, just knowing that this idiot is the reason Oikawa is slowly dying. 

“Hello?” asks the boy and he sounds just a little stiff, like he’s finally figured out that he’s not in control anymore of the situation and maybe Hajime has been aggressively glaring at him for the past three minutes without saying a word. 

But the thing is, Kageyama _is_ in control, of Oikawa’s life and Hajime can do as much research as he wants about hanahaki, in the end he knows Oikawa really only has a few months left at most. With how far along it is, there’s no real way to cure him, not unless …

Hajime knows the right thing to do would be to give Kageyama a chance to like Oikawa the way Oikawa likes him, but he can’t find it within him to think of Kageyama as worthy enough. Which does sound stupid, he knows it, but still. 

“Um …” Kageyama stares at his feet awkwardly. “So, about Oikawa-san—”

“Don’t say his name.”

Hajime’s eyes widen as much as Kageyama’s do. 

_Where did that come from?_

“Sorry.” He’s confused. Hajime can’t blame him.

“Just … wait a minute,” Hajime breathes in deeply and tries to collect himself together. 

He has to get it together because what was he expecting when he approached him? What did he expect Kageyama to say? He can’t tell Kageyama that Oikawa is suffering because of him, that’s not his secret to tell, and he can’t just pretend they know each other, because they really don’t, the only thing they have in common besides volleyball is they both know Oikawa. 

Kageyama waits.

He’s such an obedient kid.

“I’m Iwaizumi Hajime, you’ll call me Iwaizumi-san,” Hajime says. “And …” Hajime thinks about it and as much as he hates it, he has to do it. “And you will ask Oikawa to go out for coffee this weekend.”

“No.”

_The little piece of—_

“What do you mean no?”

“I mean no, Iwaizumi-san,” says Kageyama. “I don’t see why I have to do as you say, with all do respect.” The way he says “with all due respect” tells Hajime it was more of an afterthought. “Why don’t you ask him?”

_Because he doesn’t want me._

“It doesn’t have to be coffee, it can be whatever you want,” Hajime says. “Just … ask him out.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Not my type.”

Hajime’s eye is twitching, isn’t it? Maybe he should see a doctor about that.

“What _is_ your type, then?”

Kageyama thinks about it, leaning on his elbow for a moment. “Not Oikawa-san.”

_SLAM!_

Hajime is pretty sure he might be choking the boy, pressing him up against the school wall, pressing against his throat with his arm, but really it’s the insolent little shit’s own fault for that.

“Iwaizumi-san—”

“Don’t Iwaizumi-san me,” Hajime says. “Do you have a problem with Oikawa?”

“No.” He sounds too calm. Too genuine.

Hajime wishes he would squirm more, fight against him, but Kageyama almost looks bored, despite the clear advantage Hajime has over him and it annoys him even further. “Why won’t you take him out for coffee then? What do you have to lose?”

“Nothing, but I have nothing to gain.”

Hajime really hates how black and white the kid sees the world. 

Hajime doesn’t want to beg, he _really_ doesn’t. He doesn’t know what will happen if Kageyama _does_ agree to go out with Oikawa, if it’ll cause him to start choking even more, or if he’ll be cured. He doesn’t know, but it’s a chance and he wants to give Oikawa every chance he can get because the world doesn’t deserve to lose someone like Oikawa because a snobby sixteen year old doesn’t know how good he’s got it.

“What do I have to do to get you to go out with Oikawa?”

“If Oikawa-san wants to go out with me, why doesn’t he ask me himself?”

“Answer. The. Question.”

“Answer mine.”

“It doesn’t matter,—”

“You’re doing this behind Oikawa-san’s back, aren’t you, Iwaizumi-san?” Kageyama says.

“Why does that matter?”

“You keep telling me to go out with him, but is that what you really want?”

Hajime sees red. 

How dare this kid try and make sense of him, pretend he knows him better than he knows himself. He’s so full of himself, to dare to think himself equal to Hajime on this matter, pretending he knows what’s happening when really he doesn’t even know the half of it. Hating him has just become easier.

“I’ll go out with Oikawa-san, if you really want,” Kageyama says. “I mean it’s not that much of a bother, I wasn’t doing anything this weekend anyway.” Kageyama meets Hajime’s gaze and it nearly freezes him. “But is that what _you_ really want?”

Hajime’s fist curls around the material of Kageyama’s uniform. He bites the inside of his cheek and holds his tongue for a moment as he remembers who he’s doing this for. 

It doesn’t matter what he wants, it’s about Oikawa, about keeping Oikawa alive.

“Yes,” he says, the words tasting like bile, “Yes, it’s what I want.”

“Okay,” says Kageyama. “Then I’ll ask Oikawa-san out.”


End file.
